


Duality

by RedOrchid



Series: Duality [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Amnesia, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-09
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 05:26:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is alive, twenty years younger than when he nearly died and without any memory of who he is. Hermione Weasley promises to take care of him and help him back into the Wizarding World.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the SS/HG Gift Exchange 2008/2009

 

**Chapter 1**

_To: Hermione Weasley_  
34, Charlotte Street  
London 

The envelope was stained in several places and was delivered by an owl that looked rather worse for wear. At first glance, she thought the letter might be from Ron, but a closer look at the handwriting told her otherwise. And it wasn't as though he was in the habit of sending her letters anyway. Somewhat intrigued, she walked over to a chair, sat down and broke the seal. The message was short, to the point and left her rather confused.

_Dear Ms Weasley,_

_My infuriating brother left me with something of a project of his, which I received on my doorstep almost exactly a year after his death. In the accompanying letter, which appeared simultaneously on my desk, I was asked to take care of and protect his secret until a certain stage of development, after which I was to hand it over to you. Well, now it's time._

_Don't bother sending back a reply by owl. Just get yourself over here to retrieve what my dear late brother so graciously left you. And be quick about it. I have forsaken my yearly goat convention for nine years running at this point and I'm not in the mood for stalling._

_Yours truly  
Aberforth Dumbledore_

A quick look at her watch told her that she had quite a bit of time before she needed to be at the Ministry for the evening's lecture on House-Elf Legislation. Mightily curious—and slightly apprehensive—she turned on the spot and Apparated to Hogsmeade.

***

Aberforth received her with a nod and led her, without preamble, across the floor of his dirty pub and through a small door behind the bar. She realised that she must be standing in his private home when he changed his shoes for a pair of fluffy slippers and told her to take a seat before the fire. He left the room for a few moments after that, returning with a small kettle, two cups and a thick stack of folded, yellow parchment.

"Here," he said gruffly. "Have some tea." She took the proffered cup and sipped at the hot liquid, waiting for him to start. Aware of her scrutiny, he unfolded the stack of parchment and took out the first three pages.

"This is all I can give you for now," he stated, handing them to her. "This is no trivial matter, and I promised my brother a long time ago never to jeopardise the safety of this particular project of his. This part should give you enough information to make the choice whether you will honour you late Headmaster's last wish and help me, or if you would prefer to walk away."

"Alright," she agreed, rather disturbed and more than a little emotional to be so close to hearing Dumbledore's voice again, even if it was only through a letter. Taking the sheets of parchment from Aberforth's weathered hand, she gave him a small nod in understanding and leaned back to read.

 _Dear brother,_ the letter began. _I am sorry that this letter should reach your eyes, since it means that one of my greatest fears has come to pass. I'm not, of course, speaking of my own, unfortunate demise—we've had nearly a year together to prepare for that, after all—but that of a man incredibly dear to me. You were there at the start of things, and no one knows the story of how deeply I failed him better than you. I don't think I'm exaggerating if I name the events of that night as one of the three greatest mistakes of my life, and even though I know that you have not forgiven me for the other two, I'm hoping against hope that you may forgive me enough for this one to help me amend the situation._

_You see, failing to keep what I'd promised yet again, I set out on a path to make things, if not right, then at least a little better. I wanted to protect him, to make sure that by landing himself in my imperfect care, the young boy I had failed would not pay with his life for being tied to me. I knew that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort would come back, and his chances with such a future looked bleak indeed. So I came up with a way to protect him, and you are now seeing the results. Over the course of seventeen years, I subtly doctored his drink with the Elixir of Life, diluted into almost nothing and mixed with fresh tears from Fawkes. The goal was that, should he come to an untimely end, his body would be able to slowly heal itself and, after a longer period in which the world would change enough to accept him back into it, he would wake up to a new start and a second chance at life._

_The potion will work itself through his system slowly (I've estimated ten years in my research) and once he wakes up, his memory of recent events might be slightly dazed. Please take care of him during this time, and once he regains consciousness, please entrust him to someone bright, someone who will want to help him get started and who has enough sense of justice to help him push his way back into society. I would ask you to take him to Harry, but then I don't know whether he will make it out of the last battle alive or if I will have to add yet another great failure to the list. One of his friends perhaps. Miss Granger, if she'd be alive and willing._

Aberforth watched as the young woman before him let her hand fall into her lap and focused an empty stare on the fire for a long, long time. He wondered if she was as bright as his brother had claimed—bright enough to deduce the identity of the nameless man in the letter—or if she would make her decision blindly. The flames had begun to fade, and his tea cup had been drained and refilled for several times before she finally looked up, determination gleaming in her eyes.

"I'll help."

He didn't hesitate. She was likely to regret her decision, but then so was he if he chose the noble and entirely truthful way in this. And like his brother, he'd always had a more natural talent for manipulation than for frank honesty. Letting a small smile grace his lips, he withdrew his wand from the inside of his sleeve.

"Albus insisted that the man's true identity would be concealed at all costs. No one must know who he really is. Will you take the Unbreakable Vow to swear on your silence in compliance with this wish?"

Another moment of silence in which he wondered whether she truly understood the implications of his words. And then she stood from her chair, drawing her own wand steadily, and he figured that whether she chose based on arrogance or stupidity hardly mattered to him.

"I will."

***

He led her through a secret tunnel and into a small, secluded garden. Her wand arm still tingled slightly from the binding just an hour or so before, and her head was spinning so fast with the rest of the information in Dumbledore's letter that she thought it might actually be possible to experience vertigo on flat ground.

Severus Snape was alive. Dumbledore had somehow managed to build up a resistance in his body strong enough to conquer death. And now her old professor was awake again, after ten years of enchanted sleep, and she had promised to help find him a place in the world.

***

He was sitting on an old swing, dark robes a couple of sizes too big brushing against the ground as he kicked off, gathering speed in preparation for a jump. The swing set gave a grinding sound in protest, and the chains holding the seat rattled as the boy let go at the highest point, flying into the air and hovering, suspended high above the ground for a few moments, before his body softly descended. He looked about seventeen.

"What—what happened to him?" she urged, stopping Aberforth with a pull on his sleeve. "Or is this some sort of elaborate glamour?"

"No such thing," Aberforth replied, his eyes following Snape's body as the boy walked back to the swing, repeating the experiment. "I'm not sure exactly what happened. The potion seems to have de-aged him while healing his wounds. The diagnostic charm I ran when he woke up gave an indication of eighteen-nineteen, and that's pretty much what it looks like to me. I put him down as born on April 17, 1991 on the paperwork I had arranged, however, so that he'd be officially of age and you wouldn't have to deal with financial guardianship and such, at the same time as he'd still be young enough to be put through a final year at Hogwarts in the autumn. He'll need an official diploma if he's to get work to suit his talents, and that's about the only document I'm not able to forge for him."

In front of them, Severus Snape let go of the swing again and spread his arms experimentally. This time, he stayed airborne for a full thirty seconds before falling to the ground.

"He's re-discovering his magic," Aberforth explained in her ear. "Apart from waking up about twenty years younger than he was when he fell unconscious, he also lost all memory of his life and of who he is. Except for his name. For some unfathomable reason, he remembers that."

She snapped around with such force, she accidentally elbowed him in the upper part of the stomach.

"What!" she breathed, horrifying realisation setting in. "What do you mean he doesn't remember? Who does he think he is?"

"Snape's son, of course," Aberforth said bluntly. "Whisked away under Albus's protection when he was born and raised in secret out of the country. Trained by an old friend of my brother's, who unfortunately croaked while doing research on experimental charms. A spell backfired, and Severus here got hit with the ricochet of the blast as well. And voilà! Complete, irreversible memory loss." He smiled. "Perhaps I should have gone with writing instead of minding a pub. I bet I could give that fraud Lockhart a good run for his money."

"Oh, God!"

"Now there, love. It's not as bad as all that."

"Not bad!" she cried, the words coming out in a sharp hiss from her effort of keeping their conversation quiet. "I was expecting someone who needed a _sponsor_. Someone to ease the way back into society a little. I can't possibly deal with a person who, apart from having no memory of himself or anyone else, has no concept of what society is!"

Aberforth had the audacity to chuckle.

"It's not quite so bad," he told her with a glint in his eye. "He does remember some things, just not the parts that used to be in his mind. He has all his sensory memories. He remembers smells and tastes. Melodies, textures. Even people. I figure he probably won't be able to tell you who they are, but he'll know if he's met them before. So I told him that he was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament when he was three, brought along by his guardian to watch the show. That should serve to gloss over some of the most obvious risks of recognition. Quite lucky that the poor chap was such a wallflower now that you think about it. Less people he might recognise. I figured we'll introduce him to what's left of the Order all at once. The sheer number of people should be enough to confuse him, and a small Confundus Charm should do the rest. So don't fret about it."

"Don't fret about it? You're asking me to pass off a resurrected Severus Snape as his unknown son and make it stick. Including to him! What if I can't do it?" Aberforth's smile vanished, and he leaned closer, speaking very low, but in a way that made every word crisp and crystal clear in her ears.

"You'd better find a way," he said, taking her arm and squeezing the part of it that still tingled unpleasantly. "An Unbreakable Vow is no joke, as I'm sure you're aware. I'd hate to see someone so young and promising pass away before their time." Hermione blanched.

"Please don't do this."

"Too late, Ms Weasley. The deed is done, and like the typical Gryffindor who so easily runs into things without first reflecting, you now have to face the consequences. Play your part well. I'm sure you'll find the proper motivation. How are those children of yours these days?"

She didn't trust herself to reply. Fear was churning in her stomach, making her convinced she would lose what little dinner she had eaten that evening any second. Fighting back a wave of tears that rose in her eyes, she turned towards the young man and entered the small garden. He looked up at her when she approached, eyes open in curious anticipation. She came to stand before him, waiting for him to rise from the swing and then extended her hand.

"Good evening, Mr Snape. I'm Hermione Weasley. I was a student of your father's and I believe we met once when you were little. Aberforth here has asked me to take you in for a while and prepare you for Hogwarts and the NEWT exams in the autumn. Would you mind coming with me, please?"

He took her hand, and she breathed an inner sigh of relief when his expression didn't immediately turn to recognition. She forced her lips to smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs Weasley," he said, arching an eyebrow at her sharp intake of breath. His voice was different. A little higher in pitch and lacking the dark, silken quality she had always associated with her stern professor. Her smile became more genuine. Perhaps she could pretend that he was who she'd have to claim he was to the world. Perhaps she could make herself believe the illusion to make the lie easier.

"It's nice to meet you too. I'll be taking you to London, to stay at my husband's and my flat until Hogwarts starts up in September. Would that be alright with you?"

He looked around the small, cramped garden, his gaze sweeping over weed-infested shrubs and sad-looking grass. Aberforth had stepped over to the far corner, leaning down to pick up a bundle of hay with which to feed a couple of goats that were kept in a small pasture.

"I believe that would be fine. I'd ask you to wait until I could collect my things, but it seems everything I had was lost when my guardian accidentally killed himself. Aberforth said the whole house burned to the ground. I'm ready to leave whenever you are."

She nodded and held out her arm, asking him to hold on tight and attempt to clear his mind as much as possible. Not able to bring herself to say a friendly goodbye to the younger Dumbledore brother at the edge of her vision, she closed her eyes and Apparated herself and her new responsibility back to London.

***

She put him in the second bedroom, the one the children usually shared when all of them were staying in town. It didn't happen very often. She and Ron had bought a house close to his family home after they were married, Ron (and his entire family) insisting that children should be brought up in the country where there was enough space to run around and fewer Muggles to disturb with bursts of accidental magic. The small flat on Charlotte Street had been her idea, once she got the position in the Minister for Magic's office. Ron had protested, of course, asking why they should spend money on a second home when she could Apparate to work in mere seconds. They'd had quite the row about it, and afterwards, Ron had not wanted to meet her eyes.

"It's one thing that you want to work instead of staying at home with the kids," he'd said, as he took a bottle out of the cupboard over the sink and started to fill it with warm milk from his wand. "I mean, I don't mind doing it. I love the kids, and George has extra help at the store now. But a flat in town? With the hours that you put in? It's like you don't even want to see us anymore."

"That's not true," she'd insisted, guilt gripping at her heart. "Of course I want to be with you, Ron. I love you. You know that."

"Well, you have an odd way of showing it," Ron had mumbled, testing a drop of milk on his arm to make sure it was the right temperature. He'd left the kitchen, and she hadn't followed, unable to explain why this idea felt so important to her. She did love her family—of course she did—but ever since she'd started at her new job, she'd been feeling limited, even trapped in a way. When all her co-workers would go out for a pint after work, she went home to change nappies and clean, and when people in her office turned up with bags under their eyes, looking like they'd been run over by a tractor, their fatigue would be from overindulgence and glamorous parties, not because their nine months old baby had thrown a temper tantrum for most of the night. Wherever she was—be it at work or at home or the rare times she and Ron went out to see some of their friends—she felt as though there was never enough of her, like she was spread out too thin, unable to play any of her roles in a way that had people completely satisfied. This was why she'd wanted the small flat in Charlotte Street so badly: to give her back a little time and a small piece of herself.

In the end, Ron had agreed. She was the one who made all the money in the family after all. She'd moved some of her things and most of her clothes about a year earlier, and even though things between her and Ron were often a little strained, she figured they were doing okay. And her career was doing all the better for it. She'd been promoted twice already since moving into town.

Severus climbed into the strange bed with a quiet 'goodnight,' and she collapsed in a chair by the fireplace. A glance at the clock told her that the evening's lecture was long over by now. The weight of the duty that had been placed on her was starting to press onto her lungs and she fought hard to breathe.

_Don't panic. It will work out. Just don't panic._

Numbly, she got up and threw a pinch of glittering powder into the flames.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, main sitting room," she said clearly. The flames turned a welcoming green and she leaned down, putting her head inside.

***

"Hermione!"

Harry Potter almost jumped off the beautiful divan he'd been lounging on and pulled the dressing robe he was wearing tightly closed around his body. Behind him, Ginny struggled with hers, looking rather rattled and not a little put-out by the interruption.

"I'm sorry for calling so late, but this is really important." She gave Ginny an apologetic smile and met Harry's eyes, anticipating more of the same irritation. Harry just looked at her intently, and she did a double take. If she didn't know better, she would have said that her friend looked almost relieved to see her.

"Don't worry about it, Hermione," he said nicely. "What's the problem?"

"I got an owl from Dumbledore's brother today," she started. "He showed me something—someone actually. It's all rather crazy—and really important. I think we should gather the Order straight away."

"Hermione, it's really late," Ginny said, getting off the divan to stand behind her husband. "Could it wait until tomorrow?" Hermione thought about the sleeping man in her children's bedroom and felt the suffocating weight press back down on her chest.

"I don't think so," she said, hating herself for the tremble that attached itself to her voice. "I need help. I don't know how to handle this on my own."

"Hey, now," Harry said quickly. "I said don't worry about it, whatever it is. I'll send out a summons straight away, we'll meet here in thirty minutes. In the kitchen," he added, with a pleading look at Ginny, "so as not to wake the kids." Ginny looked at him for a long time, and Hermione could almost see the silent argument going on between them. In the end, Ginny broke away.

"Fine," she muttered. "I'll call Mum and Dad. Is Ron already with you, Hermione?" A stab of guilt hit her straight in the chest.

"He's on his way," she lied, not meeting Ginny's eyes. "Just checking that the kids are alright on their own for a while."

"Okay, we'll see you in a bit, then," Ginny muttered, turning to leave the room. With a last, apologetic look at Harry, Hermione drew back her head and reached for another pinch of the glittering powder. If she was quick, she'd manage to get hold of Ron before Harry's Patronus came to summon him, which could hopefully help her avoid yet another argument. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed her hair a little and turned back to the fire.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was nearly four in the morning when she returned from the Order meeting. The reactions to her news about an unknown, teenaged Snape had been about as volatile as expected. Five people had immediately demanded that she return to her flat to fetch her new charge, refusing to hear her argument that since Severus didn't have any memories, it wouldn't do any of them much good. Truth be told, she was afraid to take him there. Even though the Order was much smaller than it had been when her former professor had been its foremost spy, there were quite a lot of people there who had known him very well. Aberforth hadn't been of much help either, saying simply that his role had been to hand the lad over to Hermione and that, from the moment he'd completed his task, he was bound to silence as surely as she was.

Fighting had erupted after that, and in the end, it had been Harry who had drawn his wand, shot the kitchen full of green sparks and told everyone to calm down and stop yelling, or they would wake the children and he'd have to throw them out into the street. Things had been calmer after that, if no less exhausting. Everyone had been asking questions, questions to which the only answer she had to give was 'I don't know.' She could feel Ron's eyes on her, staring a hole in her neck. He knew her too well not to know that she was lying, or at least concealing something. After seventeen years of friendship and nine years of marriage, he had become something of an expert on reading her face and body language.

After a solid two hours of interrogation and heated discussions, they had called a short break, and while Ginny whipped out her wand and sent hot tea and freshly baked crumpets soaring onto the table, Ron took Hermione by the arm and led her down the hallway into the small library to the left.

"How could you do this, Hermione," he asked as soon as the door closed around them. "How could you promise to sponsor someone without consulting me?" He didn't shout, but she could tell that he wanted to. His ears were so red, they were practically aflame.

"I don't know," she said, trying to stave him off. "It all went down so quickly. I didn't think—"

"You didn't think?" Ron exclaimed, incredulous. "What the hell does that mean, Hermione? How the hell can you agree to a bloody _Unbreakable Vow_ without thinking about how it might affect your family?"

"I'm sorry," she tried. "It wasn't supposed to be important. Just a favour to Dumbledore, some light sponsoring for a friend of his. It wasn't supposed to affect you!"

"Not affect me?" Ron practically exploded, even though he still kept his voice down and under tight rein. "How could it _not_ affect me that my _wife_ , the mother of my two very young children makes a vow that puts her in mortal danger?" Hermione swallowed thickly. Tears were starting to sting in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, her voice coming out small and broken. Really, there was nothing else to say. As Ron so clearly pointed out, her decision had been beyond inconsiderate, not to mention stupid.

"You're always sorry," Ron replied, a decidedly chilly tone in his voice now. "You're sorry that you don't have more time for the children, but you gladly accept a complete stranger into your care. You're sorry you can't keep your promises to me for any longer period of time, but you make an Unbreakable Vow to _Aberforth Dumbledore_. You're sorry—!" He broke off, letting his face fall into his hands, his body swaying slightly.

"This is the last straw," he said quietly when he straightened up again. "I've been patient for a long time, Hermione, supporting you, helping you, making excuses for you when you were too selfish to give up a Ministry benefit to celebrate our anniversary or a meeting with a Head of Department to come home and read a story to your son when he had Dragon Pox. I've put up with going to bed alone five nights a week, of staying home and listening to the bloody Wireless instead of seeing my mates for a pint or going to a Quidditch game. I loved my job, but I decided to let it go for an undetermined period of time so that you would get the chance to have the career you wanted. I fucking live and breathe for you—for Rose and Hugo—and you repay me by… what? Forgetting that you even have a husband? Forgetting that you have a _family_? A family that loves you and would never want to see you in that kind of danger?" Ron blinked angrily, forcing away the tears that had formed in his eyes. Hermione just looked at him, pale and speechless. She hadn't seen Ron cry in years.

"Ron, please—"

"Leave it, Hermione," he said, his voice hoarse and empty. "There's nothing you can say. Figure this out—figure out what it is that you want—because I'm tried of waiting. I'm your husband, not a convenient escort to your work events or the eternal babysitter to your children! Complete the favour to Dumbledore and take care of Snape's son until he leaves for Hogwarts and then make up your mind. If you want to make this marriage work, come home and be prepared to convince me. And if you don't…" He let the rest of the sentence hang in the air between them, the unsaid meaning of it unspoken but clear as day. With a last, long look at her tear-stained face, Ron Weasley turned and left the room.

***

_Crash!_

The noise was so loud, it brought her from deep sleep to standing on her feet, wand in hand and adrenaline pumping, in less than a second. She moved towards the kitchen, towards the source of the sound. The second she stepped through the doorway, all hell broke loose.

Severus was huddling in a corner, wand in hand (which shocked her, she hadn't known he had a wand), shards of broken glass and splintered wood all around him. He looked like a caged animal, magic exploding all around him, fear morphing into aggression and then into blind survival rage. There was blood on the floor, and when she looked closer, she noticed a number of cuts on his hands and face. Without thinking, she started towards him.

_"NO!"_

She barely had time to throw herself out of the way of the jet of purple light and felt chills erupt on her skin where the magic brushed her. Another jet followed—red this time—and she screamed as she heard the fabric of her sleeve tear and felt the skin of her left arm split open. Behind her, the plates cupboard exploded, and she threw herself under the table to escape the rain of broken china.

_"Expelliarmus!"_

Snape never uttered a spell, but she felt the Shield Charm go up nonetheless, sending her own charm rebounding on the walls. Panting, she pushed the shock away, focusing on the situation at hand. Her next spell almost hit its target, silently flowing from her wand and colliding with the kitchen sink.

The battle went on, and Hermione forced herself to focus, to think of her opponent as just that. If she tried to figure things out, or reason with the man in front of her at this point, she would lose—and with what she recognised from the spells brushing narrowly past her as she dodged and parried, that what an option she couldn't afford.

 _"Stupefy!"_ she thought desperately, taking advantage of the split second when Snape ducked out of the way of another shower of broken glass to take careful aim. The red light connected, and the man before her fell to the floor. Pushing herself onward, she quickly snatched up his wand.

Shock found her then, causing her mind and body to stumble. _What the hell just happened here?_ A dozen possible scenarios ran through her head, trying to make sense of why the man who had gone calmly to bed the night before had erupted into _this_. Feeling increasingly sick with trepidation, she brought up a hand to wipe sweat and blood from her face, wincing slightly. Realising that there was only one man who might help her now, she fell to her knees in front of the fire, throwing a handful of green powder into the flames.

***

Aberforth appeared after a short while, chuckling as he took in her floating head and its ruffled appearance.

"Ah," he said. "The Calming Potion wore off, did it?"

Hermione had never before felt worry turn into anger quite like that, like a blinding force pushing through her, transforming her into something else.

"What!" she managed, her jaw painfully stiff.

"Cal-ming Po-tion," Aberforth enunciated carefully. "To keep the lad from wrecking my dear old pub with that frightful temper and uncontrolled bursts of magic of his." Hermione just stared at him, completely speechless. "Oh, come now, love," Aberforth continued with a slightly mocking smile. "Don't tell me you didn't recognise the signs? The dilated pupils? Slightly dazed? Far too acquiescent for someone in his situation?"

She wanted to hex him. Really hex him. Something so painful, he wouldn't be able to move for a week. As though he'd read her mind, a shimmer of magic suddenly burst from Aberforth's wand, wrapping around her head like a golden bubble.

"Now, don't take this out on me, Ms Weasley," he warned quietly. "You made the choice to take on the lad. Whether I tricked you on the way is immaterial. Naturally I did, or you would never have agreed to do it, but there's no use moaning about it now, is there?"

"I can't believe you!" Hermione breathed, still fighting to process the matter-of-fact tone of the old man in front of her. "Professor Dumbledore trusted you to take care of him! How can you disrespect—"

"My brother sent countless people to their deaths— _including_ one of your best friends—making them think that they were contributing to a cause, when they really were just lambs up for slaughter," Aberforth snapped, cutting her accusation short. "He enjoyed showing off his intelligence in elaborate plots, without reflecting over how many sacrifices would have to be made because of them. So don't waste your breath talking about respect. He lost mine a long time ago."

The old wizard flicked his wand again, and Hermione felt herself being pushed back, into the green flames and out on the other side in her own sitting room. Behind her, the kitchen was still in shambles, and Snape's unconscious form lay pale and unmoving amidst shards of broken glass. She looked at him for a while, biting her lip in indecision. It was nearly seven thirty; she needed to be at work soon.

Her eyes caught the white, bloodless skin at the column of Snape's throat, and she made her choice. Writing a quick note to Kingsley and sending it out via the intra-Ministry communication box on the wall, she squared her shoulders and went to work. The kitchen righted itself, little by little, glass reshaping itself into window panes and crystal goblets, and splintered wood flying back to attach itself to the cupboards and chairs. She cleaned up the dust and then the sprays of blood, healing the shallow wounds on her arm and on Severus's face and hands shortly after. Finally, she levitated her former professor into the sitting room, laying his body on top of the dark sofa.

There were a few phials of different Calming Potions in the bathroom, and she weighed each one in her hand before picking a draught that was fairly light and worked principally on the mind, rather than the body. Severus's skin was cold and clammy under her fingers as she tipped his head back and massaged his throat to get him to swallow. She brushed the hair away from his face and waited for the potion to take effect. When she noticed his eyes begin to flutter under the thin skin of his eyelids, she took a step back and pointed her wand at him.

_"Rennervate."_

Snape stirred and opened his eyes, fixing them on her slowly, as though he had to fight to be able to focus. Carefully, so as not to scare him, she conjured a glass of water and handed it to him. To her relief, he sat up and took it, bringing the cool liquid to his lips.

"I'm sorry for Stunning you," she said softly. "I honestly just want to help." He took another gulp of water, and she could see his body tense up, despite the dazed expression on his face. The eyes kept darting around the room, still struggling to focus properly.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said, letting his given name fall from her lips for the first time, slightly startled by how soft it felt against her tongue. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, but I need for you to trust me." She paused for a second, weighing her options. "Is there anything I can do?"

Snape looked at her warily, and she felt her stomach tie itself into a few more knots. The lamp next to the reading table was rattling ominously, as though ready to explode from the tension in the room.

"My wand," Severus said suddenly, the demand tumbling from him in stark contrast with the slack expression on his pale face. "Give me my wand back."

She hesitated—and then realised that she was not the only one who was deeply afraid. Wordlessly, she pulled the piece of wood from the pocket where she had put it after taking it earlier and held it out to him. He reached out, and his hand closed around it. She made to let go. His hand stopped her, closing tightly over her fingers. She froze beneath his grip, not daring to move away.

"I remember you," he said slowly. His eyes went from the wand to her face, and she noted how the dilated pupils were beginning to contract, as though he was fighting against the effects of the potion. "The way your magic feels on me—when you Stunned me… I knew you before yesterday."

Hermione blanched.

"Tell me," Snape urged. "Tell me how I know you. Why I should trust you."

Hermione swallowed and shook her head, trying to push away the terror that had started to cloud her mind. _He can't know,_ her mind implored. _The Vow can't be broken. He can't ever know_.

"I can't tell you," she managed. "I took an Unbreakable Vow to protect your past. Aberforth insisted. I can't tell you." She tried to pull away from his grip, but the movement only made it tighten.

"Then how can I trust you?" he asked, suddenly twisting her arm and wrenching the wand from her. Before she had time to register what was happening, he was on his feet, pressing the tip of the slim wood insistently against the side of her throat.

"Because I'm the only one to help you now," she said, shocked at her own words, which seemed to come from somewhere outside of her, unconnected with her jumbled mind. "I can't tell you who you were, but I can help you with your magic and everything else, anything else you need to know."

Her heart beat a quick, drumming pace in her chest, tension and fear mingling together to make her sway a little, dizzy with conflicting emotions. The wand pressed a little harder into her skin, and then it fell away, causing her to draw a single, shuddering breath.

She opened her eyes. The man before her was still pulsating with fear and anger—and half of the breakable objects in the room were trembling a little—but a degree of control had entered into the black eyes.

"Show me then," he said, lowering his wand slowly, keeping it firmly clasped in his hand. Hermione nodded.

"The library is through there," she stated, pointing at a door to her right. "It holds somewhere between fourteen and fifteen hundred titles. I'll tutor you in the subjects you'll need, and you're welcome to use the books for independent study whenever you want."

She led him through the door, feeling her pulse automatically slow a fraction as the scent of old leather hit her nose. Revelling in the feeling of familiarity and comfort, she drew a deep breath and walked over to one of the high shelves.

From the second row of books, she withdrew her first-year texts for the entire Hogwarts curriculum and carried them over to her desk, spreading them out before her.

"So," she said, turning to Snape with what she hoped was at least something that could pass for a friendly smile. "Where do you want to start?"

***

She took him with her to Harry and Ginny's country home for Sunday brunch the forth week of her impromptu guardianship, when Severus had been off the Calming Potions for a full week and refrained from attacking her, shouting at her or making something explode for an additional nine days. She figured it was time for him to meet people in a closer setting than sales wizards in a bookstore or serving wizards in the pubs and cafés after whatever errands they were out to take care of were done. While she didn't say it, she also rather hoped that Ron would be at the brunch and that they might talk to each other again. She had seen Rose and Hugo when she normally did, but Ron had scarcely said two words to her as they took the children to the playground. Normally, they would let them swing side by side, talking and laughing together as Hugo grabbed the chains with silent determination and Rose let her feet dangle back and forth like someone trying to run on air. Every time since their fight at Grimmauld Place, however, Ron had kept his distance, taking one child over to play silently by the slide instead. Through nine years of marriage, this was the first time the silence had lasted more than a week, and she was beginning to really worry. Especially about the fact that the knot in her stomach seemed to be more about worry for what was going through Ron's head and less about actually missing him.

She worried about Severus as well, in a way that was possibly even more difficult to pin-point than what she was going through with Ron—and which made her head ache when she tried to make sense of it all. She couldn't stop looking at him; couldn't stop noticing every expression and every word, automatically comparing him to the older version of himself. He spent the days alone in her flat, practicing spells and quietly reading his way through her old school books and private library at an alarming rate. Most of the time, he was so deeply absorbed in his studies that he didn't even acknowledge her presence in the room. And yet, she couldn't stop looking at him.

When they arrived at the house, Hermione went onto the porch, rang the doorbell and took a step back. Happy barks started up immediately on the other side of the dark wood, and sounds of running feet grew steadily stronger. The door burst open, and two children almost tumbled out unto the walkway, wrestling a large, black, shaggy dog to the ground to stop it from jumping on the newcomers.

"Padfoot, stay!" the younger one cried, throwing his arms around the dog's neck and dragging it with him into a furry pile of black and red. The other boy, with the same red hair but who looked two or three years older, hurried behind them to close the door.

"Hi, Aunt Hermione!"

"Hello, Fred. Hello, James."

A happy giggle rose from the black pile in response, where James Potter was in the midst of wrestling with the large canine.

"Boys, this is Severus. Come say hello."

James, rather reluctantly, disentangled himself and came to his feet, approaching the dark boy without hesitation.

"James Potter. How do you do?" he said, holding out his hand in formal greeting that looked just ridiculous enough to be positively endearing on his three-year old, ruffled appearance. Severus looked at Hermione, scepticism warring with curiosity on his face. Then he took the young child's hand, shaking it firmly.

"Severus Snape. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," the boy said, flashing a smile that was rather self-consciously charming. "This is my cousin, Fred Weasley." He gestured to the older boy, who held out his hand for Severus to shake in much the same manner. "And this is Padfoot. He's the best dog in the whole world."

"You don't say," Severus deadpanned, raising an eyebrow at James. Padfoot was currently sniffing around his legs, trying to stuff a wet nose into his groin. "Well-behaved as well, I see."

"Well, he just met you," James replied, shooting him a wide grin while joining forces with his cousin to push the dog away. "He's curious."

"James! Fred! Take Padfoot into the garden and let Hermione breathe a little," a voice rang through the hallway. The two boys scampered off with a bouncing Padfoot in their wake, disappearing through a doorway to the left just as a tallish, dark-haired man came into view. He was wearing a blue and white apron over his jeans and shirt, dusts of flour visible on his bare forearms and a little on his face. Hermione came forward, and he swept her into a light hug, cracking some sort of joke and asking how she was doing. After taking her jacket, his attention turned to Severus; their eyes met, and both men froze.

It was like a piece of heavy metal sliding solidly and irrevocably into place in a pre-existing slot in his mind. For the first time since he woke up in the attic in Aberforth's pub—which was essentially the same as the first time, period, since he didn't remember anything from his life before it—Severus felt _connected_ , like the green eyes meeting his own somehow held the answer to a question he hadn't realised he needed to ask. He searched the dark man's face, watching the feeling of shocked surprise he felt inside play out on the features before him. Harry Potter. The other man held out his hand, and Severus grasped it. The second their palms met, a jet of magic shot out through his arm and into his body, leaving him reeling with _something_ while holding on to Harry's hand like a lifeline. Their eyes held, neither of them even contemplating to blink, and Severus suddenly realised that their hands had broken the neutral position between them to drive their bodies closer, meeting palm to palm in front of their chests and lacing the fingers tightly together.

His senses were being trampled by sensation. Admiration, want, fear, red-hot, blinding anger, tenderness, helplessness, an overwhelming urge to protect, gratitude, duty, shame, submission, arousal and the heady feeling that he _belonged_ —everything mixing into a spiralling vortex that threatened to pull the ground out from under him. _So this is love,_ he thought, dazed, but at the same time remarkably focused. His grip on Harry's hand tightened, and he leaned forwards, never breaking contact with the green eyes that seemed to beckon him closer.

"Harry, Al is climbing on the shelves again, and the muffins are just about done. Could you—oh—"

A red-headed woman broke the almost hypnotic mood that kept him bound to Harry with invisible strings. With the efficiency of a hot knife through butter, the new presence caused Harry to almost jump backwards, letting his hand fall quickly to his side.

"You're definitely Snape's son," the girl stated, coming up to stand next to Harry. "You look so much like him it's frightening."

Severus managed to look away from Harry to settle his eyes on the soft-looking, very pregnant version of what must be his wife. "I get that a lot." Ginny smiled.

"So does Harry. And our son Al actually looks just like him, continuing the tradition, so to speak. The male Potter genes must be really strong. I'm Ginny, by the way. Why don't you come in, both of you. Ron and the kids arrived a little while ago, and the others are waiting in the kitchen." She slipped her hand around Harry's arm and steered him away. Severus watched them leave, feeling a knot tighten and release in his stomach at the sight.

"Perhaps we should go back to the flat."

His head jerked to the side and found Hermione, standing a few paces away and looking rather worried. His eyes met hers briefly and then darted back towards the end of the corridor.

"No," he said firmly. "No, I need to stay here."

Without looking back, he felt his feet begin to move, taking him quickly down the hall in pursuit of Harry Potter.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_How do I stop this?_ Hermione thought desperately as she watched Severus brush his hand against Harry's surreptitiously while passing him the potatoes. He was trying to look nonchalant, but the way his eyes and body seemed to unconsciously remain focused on her friend rather negated the pretence. She got a brief flash of a memory of her old professor, how his eyes would track Harry in the same way, but with a subtlety and emptiness that made it impossible to say whether he was watching the Boy-Who-Lived out of wariness, loathing or just pure spite, hoping that the boy would become uncomfortable enough to do something stupid to ruin whatever potion he was brewing on that particular day.

The dinner progressed, and she kept watching. Finally, the pudding was cleared away, and she joined Ginny in the kitchen to start with the dishes. It annoyed her slightly, the way it always went like this—the two of them doing the washing up as the men got to play with the children on the grass. She usually put in a protest, but this week, Ron had just looked at her and raised an eyebrow, the words _'Why shouldn't you? I do it every other fucking day of the week,'_ spoken silently between them with such venom, she just blinked and lowered her eyes. And Ginny didn't argue. She never did anymore.

Walking over to the counter, Hermione pulled out her wand and started levitating the dirty dishes into the sink. Ginny walked past her to one of the refrigerated cupboards and pulled out an opened bottle of white wine.

"Care for a drink?"

Hermione nodded, and Ginny took out two large glasses, pouring the wine and handing one to Hermione.

"To Foetus-Protection Charms," Ginny said, clinking her glass to Hermione's and patting her swollen stomach. "I still don't understand how Muggles get through pregnancy without being able to have a drink every once in a while. I mean, the anxiety alone…" She trailed off, twirling the liquid in her glass and looking into the distance.

"Ginny, are you alright?" Hermione asked, looking at her friend more closely than she had in a long time. Ginny met her eyes and smiled, but it was a strained tug of her lips and very far from the sparkling, carefree expression Hermione was used to seeing. "What's the matter? Is it the pregnancy? Harry? Something else?" Ginny shrugged her shoulders, turning her eyes back to her wineglass.

"I don't know," she sighed, shaking her head a little. "I don't even know if there is something wrong, or if this is just the kind of thing that happens once you have kids." Hermione briefly turned her attention to the sink to put another couple of charms on the dishes and then led Ginny over to the kitchen table, motioning for her to take a seat. "How do you mean?"

"It's just—" Ginny started, biting her lip and throwing a glance out the window, as though afraid that the men would suddenly break off their game of throwing the Quaffle and interrupt their conversation. "It's like Harry doesn't fancy me anymore," she mumbled, not meeting Hermione's eyes.

"Why would you say that?"

"He—He barely touches me anymore, not unless it's a friendly hug or a kiss on the cheek, or something small like that," Ginny admitted. "I know I've put on quite a bit of weight with having three children so close together, but I'm not that different, am I?" Hermione just stared at her, not comprehending.

"But you're gorgeous," she protested, looking from her friend's glossy, red hair to the creamy skin and perfectly fitting, expensive clothing. "You look even _better_ now than you did ten years ago. Maybe he's just being considerate, with the pregnancy and all?" she tried, remembering how reluctant she had been to let Ron touch her when she was carrying Rose and Hugo. Ginny laughed weakly.

"Hermione, it's been over two years," she said, and Hermione felt her chest swell a bit in empathy at the sight of tears forming in Ginny's eyes. "It started when I was pregnant with Albus, and I thought 'No big deal, it's just because of the baby,' right?" Hermione nodded. "But then Albus was born, and it never picked back up. I can probably count the times we've had sex in the last two years on my two hands! It's a miracle I even got pregnant again."

She took a deep gulp of her wine, draining the glass. Hermione summoned the bottle and refilled it without a word.

"Maybe he's stressed and tired because of work," she said, trying to find an explanation. "I mean, every couple goes through dry spells sometimes. It doesn't have to mean anything." Ginny let out another weak chuckle.

"Yes, work. That's what he says," she murmured, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Or he's too tired, or isn't feeling very well—this is the man who is never, ever sick, you remember—or some other excuse that's equally transparent. No, I know it's me. He—He's started taking hot showers in the evenings instead of coming to bed straight away. And he tries to be quiet, but sometimes I hear him anyway, and it just hurts, knowing that he does want to have sex, he just doesn't want it with _me_."

"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry," Hermione said, reaching out to pull her friend into a tight hug. "But it still might not mean anything," she tried. "I mean, maybe he's too tired to initiate full-blown sex and just wants some quick release to help him relax a bit. It's not necessarily connected, you know."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Ginny sighed. She didn't sound very convinced. "It's just—I'm trying so hard here, trying to please him, to make him happy and give him the kind of life he's always wanted. And I know that he loves me, and he would give his life for the kids, and I should be happy, I know I should. But there's just something there, Hermione, something between us that I just can't put my finger on."

"But what about you, Ginny," Hermione asked softly. "I know you're trying hard to make Harry happy, but what about the things that make _you_ happy? Maybe you could focus more on those, taking your mind off things a little?" Ginny laughed again. It sounded almost like a sob.

"That's just it," she said, fixing her gaze at her husband's handsome face through the window. "He _is_ what makes me happy. There's just nothing else that compares. Not the kids, not flying, not working, not anything. Even when things are bad, even on the worst days when I'm almost certain that he doesn't love me anymore, I rather want to be his wife than to be anything else in the world." Hermione opened her mouth to speak, and Ginny held up a hand to stop her. "I know what you're going to say," she stated. "I agree that it's not progressive, that it's probably not even very healthy, but Hermione… it's _Harry_. I've loved him my whole life, even when he didn't know my name, even when I stayed away from him and tried dating other people. I know I should want other things for myself, but Harry's the only thing I really want. And once I started being honest with myself about that, things got a little better—even on the days when I just want to cry."

Hermione didn't have a response to that, so she just hugged Ginny a little harder, looking out the window with her. She watched Harry tackle Ron in a mock-struggle for the red ball, before the two men broke apart when Rose and Hugo came at them, trying to get at the ball as well. Albus was sitting a little further away, apparently in a serious discussion with Severus over what looked like a pile of small sticks and leaves in his lap. She watched Severus pick up item after item, pointing at the details, and realised that he was teaching Albus—teaching a two-year-old how to make the distinction between different kinds of plants. A pang of yearning went off in her chest, and she tore her eyes away from the dark-haired pair to the centre of the lawn, where Ron was racing with Rose, making funny faces that had their daughter almost doubling over in giggles. She sighed. Ron was wonderful with the kids, he truly was, but sometimes she wished that he would take their education a bit more seriously. Her eyes went back to Severus again, whose head suddenly popped up, as though aware of someone watching him. His eyes met hers through the window, and he smiled, raising his hand in a small greeting. Without thinking, she raised her own in reply, waiving back, feeling herself flush slightly from the intensity of the dark, smiling eyes. Next to her, Ginny moved her focus away from Harry to Snape, and then, following Snape's glance, to Hermione.

"Um, Hermione?" she asked, eyes widening slightly. "Are you alright? I mean, are you and Ron doing okay?"

Hermione pulled her eyes away from the window and met her friend's questioning gaze with what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"We're just fine," she said. "Bit of a rough patch, is all. Nothing we can't handle." Outside, the game was coming to a close, and she saw Severus's eyes refocus on Harry, following him closely as he went over to return the Quaffle to the box of Quidditch supplies. "Will you be alright by yourself for a minute?" she asked, turning back to her friend. "I needed to talk to Harry about something. About Severus," she clarified, as Ginny opened her mouth in protest. The red-head nodded and rose from the table, moving over to the sink to begin casting Drying Spells on the now clean dishes. Throwing her a last, somewhat apologetic smile, Hermione left and went back into the garden.

***

She managed to get Harry on his own after about ten minutes, after enlisting Ron's help with keeping Severus occupied, showing him the different Quidditch balls and going off into an enthusiastic lecture about the game. Neither looked particularly happy about being stuck with only the other for company (for some reason, Severus had reacted to Ron with mild dislike, an impatient expression she recognised only too well from their Potions classes settling in on his face). Since they seemed to be at least getting along, however (and George and his children were playing nearby), she put the two men out of her mind and focused on Harry, leading him down along a small path towards the lake.

"Harry," she started, not sure of how to begin. "What do you think of Severus?" Harry kept walking beside her, looking thoroughly unaffected by the question.

"I rather like him," he said. "Seems like a decent bloke. Far more pleasant to be around than his father, that's for sure." Hermione bit her lip, doing her best to smile at the joke.

"Is that all?" she prodded. "I don't mean to be nosy, but there appeared to be quite a connection between you earlier, and now he can't seem to take his eyes off you." Harry's expression hardened slightly.

"It doesn't matter," he said dismissively. "I can handle it."

"Can you?" she asked. "It didn't look like nothing, Harry. I mean, it was almost like you were being pulled together by invisible strings when you touched each other."

"It's fine," Harry insisted, quickening his pace a little. "It's nice of you to be concerned, but you don't have to worry."

Hermione nodded, and they walked in silence for awhile until they reached the lake. A small bench was placed under a large oak tree, and they sat down together, looking out over the water. Harry looked as though he was trying to say something, repeatedly opening his mouth slightly before closing it again. Hermione waited.

"I know I can handle this because I've felt the connection before," he said suddenly, his fingers slowly and methodically shredding a fallen leaf into tiny pieces. Hermione felt her mouth open in a small 'oh' of surprised disbelief.

"You have?"

Harry didn't look up at her, just picked up another leaf from the ground and started to pulverise that one as well.

"Yes," he said finally, so quietly that she instinctively moved a little closer on the bench. "Three times."

"When?"

"The first was with Ginny, when I saw her in the Hospital Wing all the way back in second year. I didn't realise what I was feeling then, but I think that's what started it all, when I started to really care about her." Hermione nodded, mentally processing his words. Second year. The Chamber of Secrets. Tom Riddle. Possession…

"The second time was seventh year, when Ron came back and we found the sword. I was so relieved to see him. And I guess the whole almost dying just added to it, making it more intense, you know. But I knew he liked you, so it was never an issue. It gave me some second thoughts, though, with regards to Ginny. If I was with her because she was the closest I'd get to Ron, that sort of thing. I don't think it was though. I love Ron, of course. He'll always be my best mate, but it's not the same as with Ginny.

"And the third time?"

She could see Harry swallow and could practically sense how the muscles in his back stiffened. "Malfoy," he said softly, eyes darting around as though to double check that no one was listening, even though they were completely alone. "Two and a half years ago."

" _Draco_ Malfoy?" She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice, but from the tight smile pulling at the corners of Harry's mouth, she concluded that she wasn't doing a good job of it.

"Yes. We met at a Ministry function. It was the first time I'd seen him since the war, in person I mean, and it just… yeah." He pulled a hand through his hair, the way Harry always did when he was uncomfortable or unsure. A cold feeling began to build in her gut.

"What happened?"

"I offered him my hand to shake, wanting to make reparations for the way I rejected his when we first met, I guess. Seeking some sort of closure for all the shit that happened at school or something. We were adults now, I figured."

"And?"

"When my brain came back online, I'd come three times and was tangled up in damp sheets and the most perfect skin I've ever seen. I've never felt so helpless in my life, not even during the war."

"How so?" She didn't know what words she was using anymore, shock having cut off everything except the continued desperation to keep Harry talking, to figure out why everything she had known as truths seemed to be unravelling before her.

"Because I've never wanted anything as badly in my life, and I knew I couldn't have him. We both knew that. He was recently married and so was I. James was just a baby and Gin was pregnant again. Actually, I think his wife might have been too. I think his son and Al are the same age." He looked up from his hands, meeting her eyes with a steady gaze. "I grew up without a family. I could never do that to my kids."

She didn't want to ask, but the question wormed itself up her throat anyway, forcing its way through her tightly clenched jaw.

"What did you do?" He looked back down, shredding another leaf before answering.

"I stayed the night, letting everything wash over me. Half a lifetime of conflicted feelings just snapping into place. I kissed him, knowing that I would never feel a kiss like that again, and made love with him while realising that I would most likely never have sex that deserved that name ever again. We kept coming together, kept going until my mind and heart were rather permanently shattered, and then I left. I haven't seen him since."

She struggled to make sense of his confession, trying desperately to make the pieces fit with the picture she knew. Ginny and Harry in love, laughing together from across the table. The happiness on Harry's face when James was born, and then again, with Albus. His utter devotion to his kids. All four of them on a blanket during picnics in Regent Park, the children shared between them and grabbing at everything within reach.

"You love him," she said, the crippling realisation turning her thoughts into words without her being able to hold them back. "Even now."

Harry looked back up at her again, and the hollow, cold feeling inside her cemented itself as she realised that there was a wet shine in his eyes that she hadn't seen since the many funerals almost ten years ago.

"Well spotted, Hermione," he confirmed in little more than a whisper. "But 'love' isn't strong enough a word in this." He rose from the bench, and they slowly made their way back to the house. She didn't ask about Ginny, too afraid of what kind of answers she would get if she did.

They arrived back at the gate, and Harry turned to face her. "As far as Severus goes, don't worry about it," he said. "He might not realise it now, but the connection we apparently share is like a flickering match next to… I don't know… the _sun_ or something. It took me by surprise, I'll admit, but it's nothing I can't handle."

He left her with that, crossing the lawn to join the group over by the house. She watched him swing James into his arms, give Ginny a peck on the cheek and wrestle the end of the table cloth out of Padfoot-the-dog's growling mouth.

"So, Severus, do you like flying?" she heard him ask, turning to the young man who was trying—and succeeding rather well—to keep an expression of _want_ out of his face whenever his eyes would dart to Harry.

"No idea. Guess I'll know once I've tried." The two men looked at each other, and she thought she could see a shadow of doubt cross Harry's face before an easy smile settled into place instead.

"Fair enough. Grab a broom in the shed and meet me on the field beyond the orchard."

Her last thought as the two men walked away was how utterly _wrong_ it was to see Severus Snape _skipping_.  



	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After meeting Harry that first time, Severus spent a lot of his time at Grimmauld Place, where the Potter family usually stayed on weekdays. Sometimes, Hermione went with him, but usually, she tried to use the time for herself or to go home to see Ron and the children. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but seeing Severus with Harry, the two of them talking and laughing together, made her jealous, feeling very much like a fifth wheel. It wasn't fair; the old Severus hadn't used to even _like_ Harry, much less look at him as though he was the greatest thing since Bread-Slicing Charms.

 _Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new—_ celebrity _._

_Five more points from Gryffindor. And if I have to ask you to sit down again, it will be fifty._

_Oh, very good. Yes, it is easy to see that nearly six years of magical education have not been wasted on you, Potter. "Ghosts are transparent."_

Also, she found that she missed the quiet routine of the first weeks, when it had been just the two of them and a library—when he had looked at her with interest and admiration, asking question after piercing question, hungry for the knowledge she could help him find.

_"How is the Essence of Euphoria coming?"_

_Severus looked up from his copy of_ Advanced Potion Making _and moved his hair impatiently out of his eyes._

_"Not at all," he stated irritably, scribbling down something on a piece of parchment in the careful, almost printed script she recognised so well from her time at Hogwarts. "This book," he said, indicating the textbook before him with a small snort, "is absolute rubbish. I've made five corrections to various procedures already, and I'm only on chapter two."_

_Hermione couldn't keep herself from smiling, even as the old impulse to automatically defend anything that was written down surfaced in her mind. After working at the Ministry of Magic for seven and a half years, she was a lot less naïve with regards to publication standards and editing than she had been at seventeen—but his words made her remember how she had been then: so passionate about everything, willing to fight for even the smallest detail, just to prove that she was_ right _. Severus noted her smile with a frown, and she walked over to him, looking over his notes and relishing the feeling of doing something simply because it was interesting, as opposed to assigned and on a deadline._

_"This looks fine," she said, taking a quick sniff of the potion and feeling little butterflies erupt in the pit of her stomach. "A little less heat, perhaps."_

_Severus peered into the cauldron with her, moving his wand over it three times in even circles. "Yes, I thought of that," he said. "But every time I try to lower the flame enough, it dies out._

_She murmured something in agreement, letting her mind jump to different procedures she had seen and used over the years, dismissing them one by one until an idea struck her._

_"Here, try this."_

_She waved her wand at the small flame and watched it burn out with a small fizzle. Another flick, and a dancing, blue flame the size of her fist erupted from the delicate piece of wood, coming to float underneath the cauldron. The potion brightened a shade or two almost immediately, and Hermione felt the giddy feeling of success fill her lungs._

_"Hey, that's… really useful," Severus said, prodding carefully at the blue flame with his wand. "Show me how?"_

_She did, and he smiled. A real, simple, happy smile—the first one she remembered seeing. It nearly took her breath away. Not the smile in itself, for it was clear that she had seen better ones (and she made a mental note to herself to take him to St Mungo's to do something about his teeth), but the transformation it caused in him. Without the frown or the cemented look of tension or disapproval on his face, he looked… rather amazing. Not handsome, necessarily, but_ interesting _and accessible—like someone she very much would want to know. And she had created that, wrought that kind of change in someone most people would consider beyond help as far as pleasant demeanour went. The giddy feeling in her stomach increased, and she leaned a little closer, turning the page of his book to see what came next._

***

"Tell me about him."

She stopped in her tracks, coming to a halt just outside the smaller of the two libraries in the Black family home. The door was slightly ajar, and through it, she could see Harry and Severus, sitting closely together in the warm glow of the fire. She raised her hand to push the door open, but something in Severus's voice and the way he was looking up at Harry made her hesitate, feeling as though she was eavesdropping on a very private moment between the two men. There was a book in Severus's lap, one she recognised only too well, despite it being singed at the edges and rather worse for wear than when she'd last seen it, eleven years earlier. Harry leaned forwards, tracing the letters on the cover slowly with the tips of his fingers, as though trying to extract the words he needed from the damaged leather.

"He was the bravest man I've ever known," he said finally, and his voice was somehow strained, as though there were too many emotions in it, battling with one another to give their specific colour to the quiet statement. Eyes met, connected and held in the flickering light, and Hermione could almost hear Harry swallow before he found his voice again. "The sacrifices he made… I don't even know where to start. It was just so much." He broke off, turning his face away and biting down on his lower lip. "I hated him, Sev," he admitted, no longer meeting the younger man's eyes. "I didn't understand it back then, what he—I hated him and I made his life miserable just by being me, by… looking the way I did… and just going off without thinking, doing all this stupid shit that really should have killed me. And he just kept going on, kept protecting me, saving my life, my friends' lives…" He shook his head a little. "Yeah, Sev, your dad was a nasty piece of work—and Ron will tell you all about it—but he was the bravest man I've known. I'm sorry you didn't get to meet him."

Severus's fingers moved to the cover of the book, brushing carefully against Harry's in silent contemplation. Hermione watched Harry's face gradually turn from regret to something else, something that felt too intimate for her to be intruding on. His hand moved, wrapping itself around Severus's, lacing their fingers tightly together. "I'm sorry," he repeated, and Severus let out a shaking breath, eyes pressed tightly shut. "Yeah," he replied, clearing his throat to make the sound carry. "I'm sorry too."

***

She thought a lot about Harry and the connection he shared with Severus after that, and even when she tried not to, the question remained at the back of her head, nagging and prodding, like an itch underneath her skin that couldn't be scratched. Realisation came to her after roughly a week of notes and graphs and long hours in the Ministry library. There was a common thread between the people Harry had listed in their conversation by the lake: they had all either saved his life, or had theirs saved in turn.

Life-debts.

She hadn't given them much thought before this, more or less dismissing the concept as legend or superstition. Just like Divination, the whole idea seemed too inexact for her to take it seriously. What did it mean to owe your life to someone? And was there a difference between saving a life and sparing one? And what happened if the person you owed your life to died, or you saved that person's life in turn? Hundreds of questions spun in her head, confusing her, making her impatient with the whole concept. After realising that this might very well be the reason for Severus's immediate connection with Harry, however, she began to research the field a bit more fully. Severus had saved Harry's life repeatedly while he was at Hogwarts, after all, and so she started going back in time (in her mind—she would never again use a Time-Turner if she could help it), mapping out their former relationship with all its twists and turns.

 _Harry's broomstick bucking wildly high up in the sky at their first Quidditch game, Snape's lips moving frantically as he focused all his energy on the small, thrashing boy… A swarm of Dementors closing in on three unconscious students, easy prey laid out on wet grass… Green flames in Grimmauld Place and a collected Potions master informing Remus Lupin where Harry might have gone off to… Harry curled up in a ball in one of the high windows in the Hospital Wing, tears running silently down his cheeks._ He wouldn't even fight me, Hermione, _whispered brokenly with eyes fixed into the distance._ He just kept the other Death Eaters away and wouldn't even look at me properly. He killed Dumbledore, just like that, with a swish of his wand, and he wouldn't even let me fight him… _Harry and Ron emerging unscathed from the dark woods surrounding their tent, the Gryffindor sword in Harry's hand and both boys talking excitedly about a silver doe Patronus…_

The more she thought back on the old Severus, however, the more she started seeing the subtle differences in the new version of him. So much was exactly the same: the way he moved his hand to stir a cauldron, or how his eyes would flash if she said anything he considered to be beneath her usual level of intelligence. He'd grown slightly since she'd taken him home, filling out slowly to his former stature, and his voice, which had been rather different, was finding its silky, slightly intimidating lower register—even more so once he figured out that lowering the pitch of his voice would make her stutter and blush slightly, not to mention agreeing to almost anything he would ask of her. His magic, too, was growing, at an almost alarming rate. Some days, she could nearly feel the power surrounding him, emanating from his skin like a tangible aura. Those days found her unable to sleep, going through her old school things—anything that carried a memory of _him_ —attempting to figure out what she'd actually felt for her old professor, and why this younger version of him was affecting her so strongly now.

_"Again!"_

_She shot another shower of sparks and quickly moved under the Disillusion Charm, creeping silently around the room. He turned slowly, closing his eyes, concentration written all over his face. She stopped by a wall, holding her breath so as not to make the smallest sound. A muted_ crack _of Apparition tore through the air, and she felt stone against her back, Severus's tall form coming out of nowhere to pin her to the wall with a firm hand right below her throat._

 _"Got you," he whispered, and she could feel the excitement of the chase, of success, of_ power _radiate from him, making her mindlessly alive, one with her magic and the moment. It was suddenly very hard to breathe._

She liked him, she admitted to herself. She liked the young man she was beginning to know. He was like her in many ways—just as intrigued by the workings of magic and by the theory that lay at the core of each spell or potion. Their minds followed the same kind of logic, and he was almost terrifyingly intelligent at times, challenging her to push herself to excel, to do her research on the subjects she tutored him in and to think outside the box. Because just like when he'd been her professor, nothing pulled out the sarcasm quite as quickly as when she would sometimes revert to her schoolgirl self and quote something word-for-word to him from a textbook. She most enjoyed the times when she was working with him on something he already knew quite well and they could discuss and debate the subtleties of the procedures or the intricacies of the results. It was largely because of this that she didn't like the effects Harry was beginning to have on him, which were causing the reserved and cerebral man she'd known (and whom she started to admit to having very much admired, even when he had been an intimidating git) to slip away, a more open and immediate version taking his place. She knew she was wrong to think it, that she should be glad that Severus seemed to be adapting, but something in her felt cheated, as though she'd had something she needed at the tip of her fingers and had lost it again before realising what it really was.

_"Did you read the treatise on the lingering effects of Goblin magic in enchanted silver?" she asked, throwing herself down next to him on the sofa. He raised an eyebrow at her, indicating his feet—which she was partly sitting on—with a pointed glance. Grinning, she moved away a little, and he stretched his legs lazily against the cushions._

_"Naturally," he said, turning a page in the book he was reading. "There was a misquotation on page twenty-six."_

_She beamed at him. "Finally! It seems that no one at work has even bothered to read the bloody thing."_

_He smirked at her and shook his head a little, as though he was laughing at some kind of private joke inside his own head. She got another vivid flash of her former professor, looking up over the top of a fourth-grade essay at Draco Malfoy as Ron and Neville managed to simultaneously turn their should-have-been cream-coloured potions a poisonous, smoky green._

_"So, what did you think?" she prompted, folding her legs under her to sit a bit more comfortably on the sofa._

_"I thought it was overworked and pretentious," he said with a shrug, and she realised with a sinking feeling that the book in his hands was not from her library. As she watched, she could practically see Severus tune her out, adjusting his position a little more to better focus his attention on the infinite intellectual potential of_ Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland.

And then—then!—Severus cut his hair (short and messy, just like Harry's) and switched the black robes she'd got for him (which billowed behind him in just the right way) for black slacks, or even jeans—which looked utterly ridiculous on his strict persona. And she just wanted to scream. Except the persona was fading as well, and she found herself growing short-tempered with her young ward because of it. As much as she wanted to deny it, she realised that she wanted to keep the man he'd used to be.

***

While a Life-Debt was most certainly the most plausible explanation for Severus's easy connection with Harry, she couldn't find any records on the subject that justified the other part—the almost tangible devotion to her friend—which she saw flash across Severus's face every time Harry would come into a room.

Despite hours of research, the penny on that mystery didn't drop until a month or so after the first visit to Harry's house, when Lily was born and they went to see the newest member of the Potter family at St Mungo's. Baby Lily shared Ginny's colouring, with pale skin and a red tuft of hair on the top of her head, but her features were different, reminding Hermione forcibly of someone she couldn't quite name. The eyes were the exact shape of Harry's, but a baby blue rather than the emerald green he and his youngest son shared.

Severus was besotted from the first look.

"I want to babysit," he blurted, eyes darting from Lily to Harry, as though he had spoken a thought out loud without meaning to. "I mean, if you ever need some time away, or time with the older children, I could help."

Harry grinned where he sat on the edge of the bed, his arm snugly wrapped around Ginny.

"We'll hold you to that," he said, reaching down to touch the miniscule hand of his new-born daughter. "Look at her face," he marvelled. "She looks exactly like my mum in those pictures Remus left me. Well, apart from the colour of the eyes, of course. Are you sure we should stick with 'Lily' for a name? It might be a bit strange if she grows up to look the same as her."

"I like 'Lily,'" Ginny stated, brushing a finger over the top of the small head. "And I don't think your mum would have minded." A flash of awe crossed Harry's face, and for a split second, Hermione saw the man that had been hidden away for years (two and a half, she silently corrected herself), looking down on his wife as though she was the most precious thing in the world. She looked from the couple, to baby Lily, and then to Severus. And the pieces fell into place.

Severus still loved Lily Evans, his only friend and teenage love, and even though he couldn't remember her face, name or anything they'd done together, he somehow remembered _her_. He was drawn to Harry because of it, and she suspected that his almost hungry affection with Albus—and now with baby Lily—stemmed from this as well.

In a rather surrealistic turn of events, Harry insisted that Severus should become the godfather of his new-born daughter—something which Hermione suspected caused quite a row between him and Ginny. In the end, Harry won, and Severus Snape carried Lily Luna Potter to the name-giving ceremony, unable to take his eyes off her the entire time. Luna Lovegood, who was a rather more aloof godmother, walked beside him, chattering away happily. Hermione watched as Severus replied to something, trying to read the movement of his lips—even more so when his mouth turned into a small smirk. Beside her, Ron stood stiffly, keeping Rose tightly wrapped in his arms. He didn't speak to her.

***

She walked into the small laboratory after coming home from work one hot, August day, and the sudden sensations hit her with the blinding feeling of a head hitting a brick wall. A combination of scents accosted her, a familiar backdrop of new parchment and freshly cut grass subtly framing a fragrance that went straight to her head. She stumbled slightly and brought up a hand in front of her to grab the doorpost for additional support. Closing her eyes, she tried to close her mind to the whiffs of potion that seemed intent on transforming gravity into something else altogether.

"Amortentia, is it?"

Severus looked up from the cauldron, giving her a small smile.

"Deftly spotted," he said, sounding mildly impressed. "I came across it in Father's book, the one Harry gave me. It intrigued me."

"Oh?" she managed, crossing the space between them to peer into the cauldron. The potion shimmered flawlessly, and she recalled her first attempt, which had been several degrees less successful.

"Yes, it seems a lot like Veritaserum in a way," he elaborated. "But the composition is far more… I guess _primal_ would describe it well. Revelation of the subconscious in a single breath and complete loss of personal control in the smallest drop. If truth is power, then this is one step better."

She could feel her hands begin to shake in the pockets of her robes as she leaned forward a fraction to check the notes he had made during the brewing process. The scent washed over her again, stronger now, pulling at her without mercy. That detail was just the same. The way he smelled had not changed at least.

"Tell me about your results," she asked, taking a step back so as to avoid looking into his face. He stepped aside, motioning for her to come closer and peer into the cauldron. While he talked, he kept stirring the potion with one hand, effectively creating a warm human cage with his body. The stillness of the room was such that she could hear herself swallow, not to mention breathe, and she focused on keeping herself still, not sure what would happen to her self-control if her body accidentally began to brush against his.

"Did you think I hadn't noticed?" The words came suddenly, caressingly, just inches away from her ear, interrupting her blank state of mind. "The way you look at me, as though I'm not really me, but someone I remind you of? The way you stare at my hands or mouth but refuse to meet my eyes? The way I remembered your smell and touch from the start, like someone I'd met before and knew well enough to associate with a level of trust…"

The back of her hips hit wood unexpectedly, and she found herself backed up against the second work table with Severus closing the gap alarmingly fast, leaving her no space for escape. She should move, she knew—should push at the chest coming up so close to her own and leave the room without further comment. The instinct to flee was overwhelming, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins like steady bursts of magic. A hand came down to grab the table on either side of her, and a tiny puff of warm air brushed her cheek. She couldn't feel her legs anymore.

"So, Hermione," he almost whispered, his voice dropping to a register she knew all to well, but hadn't heard in more than eleven years. "When did it start? Did he corner you like this? In his classroom perhaps? Did he fuck you on his desk when you were still his student?"

She heard the words, felt them pass through her ear and into her mind, where the weight of them dissipated like smoke on a windy day. Another kind of fog was settling in, entering her with every breath and trapping her mind in a web of confusion and want.

"You should take the cauldron off the fire. The fumes are getting too thick for a room this small," she said. And then, something clicked in her jumbled mind. "You did this on purpose."

"A light Vaporisation Charm," he confirmed, leaning forwards slightly to increase the illusion of height and domination. "We've done this dance for weeks now. I want answers."

"I can't give you that."

"Oh, really?" he breathed, lips so close to her ear that she felt rather than heard the words. "Now, why don't I believe that?"

"Perhaps you just don't want to?" she retorted, a spark of anger igniting within her, bringing back some focus inside. "Perhaps you're so desperate to find out who you are that you see shadow in every patch of light."

"Or perhaps," he said, removing one hand from the table and raising it in a gesture that was half-threat, half-promise, extending a single finger to run along the edge of her forehead and cheek, stopping to tether at the start of her jaw, "having no memory of the events of the first seventeen years of my life has taught me something about the subtler ways of reading people." The finger moved, caressing a path around the curve of her earlobe, the rest of his hand joining in as he reached her hair. "Like this. Like the way you respond to me right now. The way you breathe, the way you _smell_ , the way your muscles tense up and relax again—it speaks to my body more loudly than shouting would have done to my mind. I can feel your arousal in the way it bleeds into my skin and in the way my breath changes to match yours. And I can feel your fear, the hesitation, the inner fight, in my bloodstream. So hot. Like liquid power filling every vessel." He withdrew his head, putting enough distance between them to be able to look directly into her flushed face, making sure that she got the full meaning of the mocking smile that settled on his lips. "A heady sensation. I greatly recommend it."

"Fuck you." Her words were scarcely more than a hiss, and for a split second, the arrogant look on his face faltered. "You're not _him_ , you're not the same, and you're definitely not worth dying for—which is what breaking an Unbreakable Vow will lead to, in case you forgot." She pushed against the table, intending to shove him away. The hand in her hair tightened painfully, pulling her back again.

"Lying would be a lot more effective if I hadn't just told you that I can practically read your mind through your body, you know," he said, anger mixing into his voice as well. "And from the wave of irritation I feel right now, I'm guessing that people pretending to be more stupid than they are is one of my greatest pet peeves." A sharp snort from Hermione made the corners of his lips tug upwards again. "Don't tell me, another shocking similarity?"

"You have no idea."

"Does it disgust you? _Intrigue_ you? Is that why we're doing this?" he shot, forcing her attention back to him, using his hips to press her roughly into the table. "Does it keep you awake at night, wondering if it would feel the same? If I would be as rough as him, or as gentle? If the illusion would hold and you could pretend that your dear _professor_ was back with you, touching you in just the right way, filling you up and slamming into you until you begged for release?" He moved provocatively against her, smirking at her gasp as he slowly thrust his erection against the apex of her thighs. "Am I the same size?" he whispered tauntingly, using the hand not currently lodged in her hair to grab her wrist and place her fingers roughly against his hard length. She made a low moan in her throat, which sounded almost like a whimper, and he held her hand firmly in his grasp, rubbing erotically against it. It didn't take long for the frozen digits to come to life, stroking him maddeningly through the fabric of his trousers. He quickly wrenched open the belt and buttons, and a slow hiss of breath escaped him as the fingers went inside, wrapping hungrily around his pulsing shaft, setting a quick, jerky rhythm that made his head fall back and a pleasured groan travel up his throat. He let go of her hair, using both hands to lift her robes and slide along the inside of her thighs, making quick work of her underwear.

He slid into her slowly, barely touching her with the rest of his body, pinning her to the table with his eyes, as though daring her to protest, to somehow deny the complete power he held over her at that very moment. Then he closed them, letting his head fall back as he started to thrust into her with long, strong movements. She moaned and tilted her hips, wrapping her legs around his back to pull him closer, seeking the intimacy of full contact. In response, he moved his hands to her knees, prying them apart and dislodging her legs from his body, guiding them to hook over his arms instead. The new position of her legs caused her to fall back against the table, pushing back against him urgently as he raised and lowered her hips to accommodate the increasing rhythm. Her hands tore at the buttons at the front of her robes, pulling apart the fabric to let her stroke her aching breasts under the cups of the bra. She looked up and saw him watching her with hooded eyes. The expression in them made her gasp. She recognised it perfectly; it was a look of victory, of accomplishment—a confident, smug, almost gleeful look she'd seen many times before. This was the look of a man whose House had just won the School Cup, who had just captured an escaped murderer or who had finally got the job he'd coveted for a decade and a half. The black eyes above her were the eyes of a man who would belittle her in class, but give her top marks on her homework, who would risk his life to protect her and her friends, who had pushed her to excel and to grow powerful in her own right. She lost herself in the heated gaze, remembering things that used to go with those eyes, like hands that moved in intricate patterns over a cauldron, the billowing of black robes and a deep voice spreading out like the smoothest of silks across her senses. Reality slipped away, shrinking slowly into a tight ball of white light at the centre of her chest, and she came with his name on her lips, melting into the table. Severus followed her seconds later, gasping loudly. He let go of her legs, which fell bonelessly over the edge of the table, and grabbed the polished wood tightly for support. He held the pose for a moment, licking his lips and panting harshly. Then, with a last, burning look, he straightened himself and pulled away from her.

"Well, that was fun," he drawled, moving his hands to his trousers to button himself up. "An experience worth having to be sure." He moved away from the table, away from her still-trembling body, and started putting away his Potions ingredients with almost insulting casualness. She didn't hear him at first, too preoccupied with getting her breathing back together, but once she did, something cold contracted inside.

"What?" she blurted, rather inelegantly. "You don't remember? I mean—" A look of uncertainty crossed his eyes, as though he was searching his mind for something.

"Is there anything you are aware of that I _should_ remember?" he challenged. "Or are you even more confused with regards to my identity than I feared?" She bristled at that.

"I'm perfectly aware of who you are."

"Doesn't seem like it," he snapped, turning away from her. "Bloody convenient we have the same name, eh? Quite the blow to your ego if the person you were with called out someone else's name your first time." The implications of his last statement hit her so hard, she barely even heard the thinly veiled insult that preceded it.

"You were a virgin?" she asked, incredulity thick in her voice. "A fucking virgin!" A kind of desperate laughter made its way up her throat, spilling over and echoing against the walls. "I can't believe it. How—" His eyes hardened.

"I fail to see why this would be such a shock," he said coldly. "I'm only seventeen and was supposedly raised in complete seclusion by an old fart, after all." He dropped the ladle he had been cleaning onto the desk, moving towards her angrily. She kept laughing, couldn't stop. The look in his eyes turned murderous.

"Well, I'm glad that I amuse you," he said, ice dripping from every syllable. "And _thank you_ for taking care of that little problem for me." His lips turned into an insincere smile that rather frightened her, and she felt her heart beat hard and fast as he leaned in close, effectively pinning her down again. "It's indeed a privilege to get such a… _professional_ for your first time."

His chilly smirk felt like a slap to the face, and his words put enough force behind it to make her eyes sting and everything inside her recoil in shock. Before she could find her voice—or her mind even—he was moving away from her, heading out of the room.

"Oh, and don't forget these," he said mockingly, stopping momentarily at the door to wave his wand at the floor. Something soft and damp hit her on the side of her head, and she looked down, finding her ruined, slightly grey, plain, cotton knickers lying in her lap. "After all, it would be a shame to lose such an _alluring_ piece of lingerie. What would your husband say?"

The door slammed shut, and Hermione finally let the horror that had been building up inside bloom on her face. She fell from the table, grabbing at it with both hands as her legs gave way under her. She felt her knees hit the stone, the rest of her body coming down in a gasping, writhing heap on top of them.

 _Ron,_ she thought, the name sparking a wave of nausea that almost sent her rushing for the sink at the other side of the room.

_Oh, my God, what have I done?_  



	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Can I come in?" He hadn't bothered with a charm or an umbrella, which meant that he was growing rather wet and cold in the pelting rain. Harry looked at him, his first expression both surprised and a little wary, and then pushed open the heavy door.

"What's wrong?"

He stepped into the dark hallway, pulling his hands over his hair to get some of the water out of it. Harry took his jacket and led him into the smaller sitting room, gesturing for him to take a seat in front of the fire. Without asking if he'd want some, Harry went over to a small table by the door and poured two cups of steaming tea. Severus accepted the cup with a nod of thanks, wrapping his fingers tightly around the delicate china.

"I fucked Hermione," he said, in a voice that was low but very clear. Harry's eyes widened, disbelief flooding his entire being.

"What?" he choked, looking rather horrified.

"You heard me."

Harry looked at him for a long moment, as though he was waiting for Severus to break down, laugh, tell him it was all a joke. He met the green eyes steadily, holding them until Harry broke away and let his face fall into his hands with a groan.

"When?" he asked finally, lifting his face from his hands to look at the younger man again.

"Just now," he said, fiddling a bit with his cup. "She's been coming on to me for weeks. I got fed up with it." Harry snorted in disbelief.

"So you decided to _sleep with her_?" he asked, incredulous. "Whatever happened to the word 'no'?" Severus raised an eyebrow at him over the brim of his cup.

"Oh, come on, Harry," he scoffed. "As though I would. I'm seventeen. I'm male. And also," he broke off momentarily, taking another sip of his tea, "I was curious." Harry's lips twisted slightly, as though he was mid-way between a grin and a scowl.

"Well, of course you'd be curious," he said. "But that doesn't mean that you have to— Jesus, Sev! Did it have to be Hermione? You couldn't have— " He stopped in the middle of whatever he was going to say, as though a terrible thought had just hit him. "Severus," he said, his voice a lot gentler now, "Are you in love with her?"

Severus snorted into his tea.

"Hardly," he gasped, and this time, when his eyes met Harry's there was both bitterness and wry amusement there. "First of all, she's far too old and not very pretty. And secondly, I've seen how she treats that poor, pathetic sod she's married to."

"Don't drag Ron into this," Harry said warningly.

"Sorry, Harry," Severus replied. "Look, I know he's your mate and all, but you must have seen how she treats him! Even when they're not bickering or out-right fighting, she acts as though he's some sort of glorified servant."

"You know it's true," he added, when Harry made a move to object. "And anyway, their relationship is not important. It wasn't the fact that she was married that made me curious about her."

"So what was it?" Harry demanded, some of the anger back in his voice. "Just wanted to see what it was like to stick your prick into someone?"

"No," Severus said softly. "I wanted to know whether she wanted _me_ or just the illusion of me." Harry blinked in confusion.

"What illusion?"

Severus turned the cup in his hand and took a long sip, weighing the words he needed to get across in his mind. Harry leaned forwards, looking at him intently, waiting for him to go on.

"She was in love with my father," he said finally, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "I don't know when it started, but it seems obvious that they had a thing when she was still in school. She… talks in her sleep. And I found some drawings. And every time she looks at me, it's as though she's comparing me to him. I even think that she sometimes forget that I'm _not_ him, expecting me to remember things my father did or said at one time or the other." He went over to the table and refilled his cup, leaving Harry stunned and speechless in his chair. "That's what happened tonight," he said neutrally, taking his seat on the green velvet again. "Afterwards… when it was over, I made a comment about sex being a new experience and she looked at me as though I'd lost my mind. Or," he made a grimace, "my memory." He gave Harry a meaningful look, conveying exactly what Hermione has seemed to think he should have remembered. Harry looked shell-shocked.

"I can't believe it," he said. "Hermione would never—She's not like that. He was twice her age _and_ a professor." Severus just held his gaze.

"Then how do you explain it?" he asked. "How come Dumbledore asked _her_ to take care of me? How does she know so much about his past? And why did I find her up late at night, stroking the commented margins of her old Potions essays?" Harry jerked and almost dropped his cup.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. And I haven't even presented you with the most damning piece of evidence yet." Harry closed his eyes, pressing his eyelashes tightly together as though he was preparing himself for some sort of pain. Severus leaned forward, willing his friend to understand.

"I confronted her about it, earlier, just as things were beginning to heat up. She didn't deny it. Not a single word."

"Fuck!"

"Well, yes, that's what I thought. But then I told you that part already."

"Not very funny."

Severus's face suddenly grew very grim.

"Nothing in this situation is. That's why I came here. I couldn't stay. Not after that." A bitter-sounding chuckle escaped him. "And I doubt she'll want to see me again. I got so fucking angry when I realised that she was really just fucking the memory of my father through me that I said some things I shouldn't have."

"What did you say?"

The younger man flinched. "I'd rather not repeat it, if that's all the same to you," he said. "Suffice it to say that it was pretty bleak."

"Come here." Harry stood from his chair and took his arm, pulling him to his feet and into a crushing embrace. All the feelings that usually accosted him whenever he was around Harry came back, rising inside his chest through his throat and threatening to spill over into his eyes. _Home_ —that's what he felt in Harry's arms, as though there really was a place in the world where he belonged, and where there was love and friendship and family. Looking into Harry's eyes—those incredible, green eyes that always left him slightly breathless—he felt the connection strongly, as though every cell in his body was somehow tied to the man before him. Without giving Harry the chance to react, he twisted his face from where it was buried against his friend's shoulder and captured his lips in a bruising kiss.

Harry froze, but didn't jerk away, and as the kiss continued, he tentatively began to respond, moving his softening lips against Severus's and deepening the contact with a gentle movement of tongue. Severus raised his hands to tangle them in Harry's hair, expecting the feelings inside him to intensify into something more, something that burned and consumed him.

They didn't, however, and as the kiss progressed, the strangest sense of déjà-vu set in. Something wasn't right. It wasn't the kiss itself, for just like he'd fantasised, Harry was a terrific kisser. It just felt—empty, somehow, vaguely uncomfortable, like he imagined kissing his brother would feel, had he had one. Reluctantly, he pulled away, meeting Harry's eyes. From the way they sparkled, he guessed his inner feeling of 'what the fuck?' must have been readily visible on his face.

"So," Harry said with a chuckle. "Not all you expected it to be, eh?" He started to laugh, and Severus felt himself smile—a genuine, happy smile—for the first time in days.

"I guess my instincts can't be right all the time," he said, touching his bottom lip with a finger experimentally. Harry gave another chuckle and put his arm around him, leading him from the room.

"A Snape admitting a fault!" he teased, punching Severus playfully in the ribs. "Now I have seen everything." Severus just rolled his eyes, the bulk of his Harry-induced happiness still bubbling inside. He leaned his head against the other man's shoulder and breathed in the smell of him. Yes, he might have been wrong about the romantic aspect, but the overall connection he'd felt was still there, just as strong as the first time they'd met. _So this is love,_ he thought again, flashing back to their first handshake. As though Harry could hear the thought, the arm around him held him a little tighter as they walked down the corridor towards one of the guestrooms.

***

His Hogwarts letter came the next day, and he spent almost half an hour just looking at it before finally breaking the seal. He had known it would come, of course, but to actually see it—actually hold it—was different. He felt the creamy parchment under his fingers and knew that he had felt it before. The thick, finely woven fibres translated into anticipation and…pride, as he ran his fingertips over it. And something else… Relief. Freedom.

"This isn't my first letter," he stated, causing Harry to look up from the pages of Quidditch Weekly he had been engrossed in for the past twenty minutes.

"One of the things you just know?"

Severus nodded. He unfolded the parchment and quickly scanned the contents of the letter, looking at the list of spell books and equipment required for his seventh—and first—year.

"Well," Harry said. "Maybe you got one when you were eleven but didn't get to go."

Severus nodded again, fingers gliding over the black ink. He brought it to his nose and breathed in the scent. So familiar. Like a little piece of home.

"Or maybe I did get to go," he said softly. "A different name, a glamour, something like that. Perhaps there are six letters like this among the ashes of the house I used to live in, all addressed to someone else." His head snapped up, and his eyes fixed themselves on Harry. "Is there any way to find out?" Harry took a sip of his tea, weighing the question in his mind.

"I suppose Aberforth knows, and perhaps Hermione, but neither of them are willing or able to talk. Professor McGonagall was Headmistress back then as well, but I do think she was genuinely shocked to find out about you. Normally, the birth of every magical child is recorded in the Headmaster's or Headmistress's book by a magical quill, but if Dumbledore wanted to hide you away, he most certainly took care of that. Changed your name or deleted it or something. There are almost a thousand students at Hogwarts, and after the war, there were many letters going out to children who were no longer alive for a while. It was a rather grim time, and I know it took a hard toll on Professor McGonagall, especially. There was also a lot of flux in the number of students enrolling and being taken out again. Some parents had sent older siblings to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons for the last year of the war, and there were quite a few students moving back and forth for a long while. Parents, especially Muggleborn parents, were still afraid. According to McGonagall, it's only been getting back to normal in the last couple of years or so, and under those circumstances, it wouldn't have been impossible to sneak an extra student in under a false name and tell him to keep his head down. It would be rather impossible to check, though, I'm afraid. The records aren't what they used to be. Most of Hogwarts's focus has gone to just keep the school open during reconstruction and post-war trauma." He paused for a moment, taking another sip from his cup. "I guess you'll know once you're there," he said. Severus nodded.

"Guess so. It's just so frustrating, all of this," he sighed, letting the letter fall to the table. "When I first woke up, everything was clear. I remembered things or I didn't. Now, impressions are bleeding together, and when I meet someone now, someone I instinctively like for example—not that there are many of those—I don't know if I like them because I've met them before or because my magic recognises something in them. And then it's all the claptrap that Luna goes on about whenever I see her, about souls that are reborn or magic that flows in patterns trough time or whatever it might be on that particular day." He made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and pulled a hand through his hair in a way that was eerily similar to what Harry usually did.

"Like with you," he said slowly, and Harry could see how his jaw tightened a bit, the way it did whenever Severus was uncomfortable or slightly angry. "It drives me insane, trying to figure out what this… connection is all about. I thought I'd got it, clichéd and incredibly lame as the whole 'love at first sight' thing was, but now it's—"

"Hey." Harry's hand moved across the table, grabbing his and cutting off the stream of words that seemed to just well up from somewhere black and ugly deep inside him. "Not everything needs to be analysed. Or figured out for that matter. Sometimes, you just need to roll with the punches and trust your instincts. And this," he said, indicating the two of them with his other hand, "whatever this is, is real. I felt it as soon as you stepped through our door two and a half months ago, and to me, it doesn't matter where that connection is coming from. It's there, _you're_ here, and that's all there is to it. I know it's not easy to accept, but sometimes, there's just no other choice. You accept what's in your heart, or you go mad with trying to find reasons for why it's there, or worse, trying to make it go away."

Severus looked at him for a long moment, and something in his eyes made Harry flash back to his teenage years and the Occlumancy lessons he'd once had with the boy's father. Except there was no coldness in this Severus's eyes, just calculation and a touch of… hesitation.

"Sounds like you speak from personal experience," he said, one eyebrow rising in challenge in a manner so reminiscent of his late professor that Harry almost choked on his tea. "Up until yesterday, I would have been eager to jump to the conclusion that you were talking about me, but after last night, I severely doubt it." Harry shook his head. "And it's not Ginny, is it?" Severus continued, his eyes growing sharper now, intelligence flashing visibly in them. "It couldn't be with that description. Why would you want to sever a connection with your own wife?"

Harry's cup hit the saucer with a _clank_ , sending some of the liquid pouring out on the table. He pushed out his chair and got to his feet, moving quickly towards the sink in search of some paper.

"Finish your breakfast," he said in clipped tones. "We need to get going if we're to do all the shopping for your school year today."

"Harry!" The word wasn't loud, but there was a level of _demand_ in the voice that made Harry hesitate, if only for a second. He turned his head back towards the table, trying to convey with his eyes that his younger friend had better let the matter drop. The eyes that met his were burning. Severus hadn't moved an inch from his seat, but somehow, the expression in the black eyes made Harry feel as though he'd just been pushed up against a wall with a wand at his temple. Careful not to break their silent battle of wills, Severus got to his feet and approached him, stepping a little too close for comfort.

"Last night," he said evenly, and Harry could hear the anger in the darkening voice, "I came here—to you—and I revealed that I'd just fucked your best friend, who is, coincidentally, married to your other best friend. You should know me well enough by now to know that I'm not a person who revels in heart-felt confession, and that I don't care a wit about 'doing the right thing' where people's personal lives are concerned. I told you because I figured that you, if anyone, would understand what it's like to end up so completely in the shadow of your father—a father you don't even remember!—that you lose track of yourself. And I told you because I trusted you. I might have been wrong about being in love, but I thought the rest of the connection between us was real enough—that the trust was real enough—or was that just a load of bollocks thrown my way for comfort just now?"

The black eyes were staring right through him, and the connection between them was sizzling like a magical field colliding with a solid object.

"No," Harry said slowly. "It wasn't just for comfort." He began to clear away the plates and cups, levitating the dirty dishes into the sink and setting a Dishwasher Charm on them. Severus waited.

"The reason I let you kiss me last night," Harry finally started after a long pause, " _and_ the reason I kissed you back," he added, when Severus raised a questioning eyebrow his way, "was that I knew that it wouldn't get out of hand. Despite there being a strong connection between us, I knew that it wouldn't translate into… more. I've felt that kind of click before, a few times, and there are levels of intensity, different kinds of need."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Severus asked, embarrassment forming the question into more of an accusation. "Did you think it was funny to string me along? Make me believe that I was in love with you?" He felt his cheeks flush, filling with anger. Harry saw it and took a firm hold of his arm, forcing him to look up at him, forcing him to understand.

"I didn't tell you because you needed to figure it out for yourself," he said. "To tell you that it wasn't love you felt when you had no means for comparison wouldn't have helped. First of all, you wouldn't have believed me, because that's how it works. There are so many different forms of love, and until someone comes along to pull the rug out from under your feet, you always believe that the level you're at is the strongest one, that you couldn't possibly fall any deeper."

"But you could," Severus stated, the anger he'd felt rising inside him falling back again as he registered the sadness in Harry's voice.

"I could," Harry confirmed dejectedly. "And I did. Another man. Almost three years ago now."

"So why are you still with Ginny?" The question hung in the air between them, growing until it filled the entire room.

"Because I promised her," Harry admitted at last. "She's given me a family—the one thing I never had. James, Al… and now Lily, they're everything to me. I could never give them up." Severus frowned, and then some of the anger came back in his cheeks.

"So you'll be a father but never a man," he stated heatedly. "Sacrifice yourself for the sake of all that's good and proper. How decidedly _heroic_ of you." Harry jerked and opened his mouth in what would no doubt be an angry retort. Severus took no notice.

"Funny, I didn't picture you as a coward."

"I'm not a coward!" Harry hissed. "Don't you dare call me that!"

"Why not?" Severus challenged. "Hiding in your comfortable, conventional marriage because you lack the balls to go after what you want? Sounds like a coward to me." With something close to a snarl, Harry spun around. The next second, Severus felt the air being forced out of his lungs as his back slammed against one of the high cabinets.

"You don't know shit," Harry snapped. "You think you fucking know me? Try growing up completely alone, locked in a cupboard under the stairs in your aunt and uncle's house—when they aren't treating you like an indentured servant, that is. The Weasleys were the first people who were decent to me, who made me feel as though I could belong somewhere, be worth something more than something disgusting on the sole of a shoe. Ginny's taken a lot of shit for my sake and never complained about the way people can't seem to leave us alone. If I left her, the press would have a field day. The papers would crush her. I couldn't do that to her."

"And what do you think _this_ is doing to her?" Severus retorted, breaking Harry's hold on the front of his robes and pushing him back. "According to Hermione, Ginny used to be bold as brass, playing professional Quidditch and not giving a damn about what people might think. Yet, the only Ginny I've seen so far is a fading housewife. Someone who is starting to look and act a lot like her mother and whose sense of personal accomplishment is to bake a dozen apple pies in less than an hour." Harry blanched.

"She's just busy with the kids," he tried. Severus scoffed.

"Right," he drawled, sarcasm dripping from that one, terrible word. "To be honest, I don't care much about what your wife chooses to make of herself. Perhaps she can be happy with what she's got, perhaps not. That's her choice. I'm pretty sure, _you_ can't, however." Harry's jaw settled into a determined scowl.

"I manage just fine."

"I'm sure you do," he mocked. "Tell me, Harry, when was the last time you made love to your wife and actually enjoyed it?" Harry's eyes flashed.

"None of your _fucking_ business."

"I thought as much. And this is the man who lauded my father as the bravest man he'd ever known because he risked everything out of love—because love made what he fought for _right_. Rather hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Shut up," Harry said, his voice torn and hollow. "Please, just… shut up."

Severus let his eyes wander over his friend, noting the defeated slump in his shoulders and the eyes that suddenly looked dangerously blank.

"Alright," he conceded, moving out from under Harry's presence and walking over to the table to collect his Hogwarts letter. "So, school supplies?"

"Give me ten minutes," Harry replied, straightening himself and forcing his lips into a friendly smile with great difficulty. Severus held his eyes for a moment, hesitating. Then he broke the gaze, nodded and left the room.

***

They had made it through three quarters of the items on the list when his shoulder collided with something hard, and he realised that Harry had suddenly stopped in his tracks in the middle of the aisle. Frowning, he turned around, towards the source of the apparently instant petrification, and felt the air stop moving. A man was coming towards them, tall and quite stunningly handsome, with ice-blond hair and cobalt-grey robes, eyes locked with Harry's as though there was no one else in the store. Or in the world for that matter. Severus placed a hand on Harry's back and was immediately flooded with emotion. He could practically feel Harry's heart race under his palm and adrenaline and fear being released in great bursts into his bloodstream. Words or explanations had never before been so unnecessary. This was _him_.

"Malfoy," Harry's voice was opting for neutral or reserved, but didn't come out as anything of the sort. The other man stopped a short distance from them, a little too far away, as though he was afraid to come any closer.

"Hello, Harry."

The use of his first name sent a shiver through his friend's body, and Severus could actually see him swallow. And struggle to breathe.

"I thought we'd agreed…" Harry didn't specify what the two men had agreed on, but again, there was no need to spell it out. Deciding to break the tension, Severus cleared his throat and extended a hand.

"Severus Snape. Nice to meet you."

The blond man almost jumped, and the shock in his eyes as they refocused on Severus was unparalleled to any he had encountered so far. To the man's credit, he managed to gather his wits about him quickly enough to extend his own hand and accept the handshake.

"Draco Malfoy."

The name was hardly out of his mouth before Severus felt the ground move under him in a way that mirrored his first meeting with Harry so closely that he almost let out a strangled moan. His other hand slid from Harry's back, breaking contact, and straight away, the sensations receded noticeably. The acute feeling of _family_ remained, making his head spin slightly, but he no longer felt the crippling sense of arousal and love that had threatened to remove his knees a few seconds earlier. Drawing a shaky breath, he added a little more pressure around the other man's hand and then let his own fall to his side. He looked up, into the grey eyes above him. 'Shock' was probably not even close to being an accurate description as to what he was seeing there.

"How—" the blond managed, his eyes darting from Severus to Harry. He looked almost afraid. Harry cleared his throat.

"He's Snape's son," he explained softly. "Dumbledore had him hidden away somewhere God only knows. We didn't know about him until this spring. Apparently, Dumbledore had asked his brother to make Hermione his guardian, should something happen to whoever it was that took care of him before." Draco Malfoy looked dangerously close to fainting for a moment, and then something that looked like complete bewilderment mixed with a touch of anger crossed his face.

"Granger?" he exclaimed, as though Harry had said that he—Severus—had been entrusted to a colony of Flobberworms. "Why would Dumbledore—why not the mother's family? Or you? Or _me_ for that matter? Severus was my godfather, for Christ's sake! I'm the closest thing to family he had, if you discount that foul, abusive prick of a Muggle father who spent most of his time in prison or pissed out of his mind."

Severus's head kept spinning, trying to process the overload of new information and new impressions. This was his father's godson, and from the way the man was speaking, it was apparent that they had cared a great deal for each other. Was this why his magic was reaching out so strongly towards the blond? Was he somehow a part of Severus's life, a part of the family he'd never known? Was this also love? And if it was, how did it pass from his father to him without Severus having known him? Or had he known his father? Or the blond, for that matter?

"He doesn't remember how he grew up," Harry continued. "His guardian died in an accident, and he was hit with a backlash of the spell. According to Aberforth—Dumbledore's brother that is—it's most likely permanent. And there doesn't seem to be a mother. Or a family on that side."

Draco looked from Harry to Severus again, taking a step closer. An unsteady hand reached out, pushing a strand of black hair away from his face in a gentle gesture that was far too intimate for someone he'd just met.

"I can't believe it," he said, wonder clear in his voice. "Snape's son. It's just… You look—"

"Please don't say I look like him," Severus interrupted, his voice sounding tense in his ears. "It's all people ever say, and I'm growing very sick of it." He didn't know where the words came from, or the complete honesty for that matter. He _was_ sick of being constantly compared to his father, that was for certain. But why he was pouring out his frustrations in front of this man, this stranger, was beyond him. _If this is love, why does it have to be so bloody complicated?_

Draco's hand fell from his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not sure why I did that. Please forgive me." He took a step back.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." This came from Harry, and Severus witnessed how grey and green locked together again, like two needles being drawn together by a Magnetism Charm. "I should have thought of it. Should have realised that you needed to know." Something between hurt and resignation crossed the handsome features of the taller man.

"Well, we've both done a pretty good job of blocking each other out of existence, it seems," he said. "You forgot. I don't blame you."

"Well, I do," Harry insisted, an almost pained edge to his voice. "I should have realised it. Over almost three and a half months, I should have. No excuses." Severus watched his friend swallow hard and saw a decision cross his face. Lowering his voice to a soft murmur, he pushed on. "And I didn't forget. You've been on my mind every single, fucking day."

Draco's eyes grew wide, and Severus realised that they weren't actually talking about him anymore. For a moment, he thought the blond man would simply lean forwards and touch Harry in some way. The hand hanging limply by his side was raised half-way to the dark man's face before Draco seemed to remember himself and let it fall back again. His eyes hardened.

"That's not the impression one gets from the news lately," he said slowly, pulling back a step. " _Baby Bliss in Hero Household_ was a big headline not too long ago, I believe. Sounds like your mind managed just fine." Harry's smile became painfully tight.

"I said I didn't forget, not that I hadn't tried to." The grey eyes grew colder.

"Then I guess I should congratulate you on your efforts. The famous Harry Potter always succeeds at what he sets out to do, after all. Always a winner." The last words were harsh enough to be cutting, and for a second, Severus thought that his friend would lose the little composure he was still clinging to and that the exchange would degenerate into a shouting match or even a duel. His hand fell to his wand, ready to draw at a moment's notice. The silence grew.

"No," Harry whispered at last, and it sounded like all the fight, all the passion and strength Severus had come to associate with him left his body in that one, quiet word. "No, when it comes to you, I always lose."

He took a step closer to Draco, following him as the other man attempted to retreat. "I've tried to stop thinking about you," he said. "Tried to stop dreaming about you and missing you so much it _fucking_ hurts. I've tried to find my way back to my wife, to feel something other than guilt or emptiness when I'm with her." He made a short pause, stepping so close to Draco the hems of their robes brushed softly against one another. "Tried not to see your face every time I force myself to touch her." The last words fell from his lips in a whispered caress.

All the air seemed to leap from Draco's lungs, and the coolness in his eyes fell away. There was wonder in them now, mixed with a kind of desperate hope and longing so strong, it was nearly palpable.

"Harry…" The blond man's hand was rising again, making its way towards Harry's face. The darker man closed his eyes, leaning in to meet the trembling touch. He wet his lips.

"Harry, stop." Severus stepped forward, getting a firm grip on his friend's arm and pulling him discretely to the side, away from the blond. "Get a grip, there are people everywhere." Harry's eyes seemed to refocus in stages, as though several layers of smoke were clouding them. Once clear, they widened slightly in fear, and he took another step back.

"When can I see you?" Draco Malfoy's eyes were darting along the aisle, keeping check on the other customers that were browsing nearby. His voice was so low that Severus had a hard time making out the words from just a few feet away. There was no mistaking the urgency readily displayed on the blond man's face, however.

Everything in Harry's stance said _Now. Right now,_ but luckily, he managed to somehow transform it to, "Tonight. My house. Ginny and the kids are at the Burrow for a visit. Won't be back until Sunday." Draco nodded once and started to move away. Severus stopped him with a hand on his sleeve.

"Lux Eterna," he said quietly, fixing the other man with a firm gaze. "To Apparate directly into the house past the wards." Draco looked at him in astonishment for a moment, before inclining his head in comprehension once more.

"I'd better be going," he said formally, holding out his hand to Severus. "It was a true pleasure to meet you." He shook Severus's hand, pressing his 'thank you' into the warm palm. "Harry." He nodded politely and turned away. Harry's eyes followed him until the tall form disappeared behind a row of shelves. Once he was sure the man was gone, he turned to his friend.

"Thank you," he said, giving Severus's arm a small squeeze.

"That was bloody stupid," the young man replied, moving with him down the aisle to the next section. "If that's how you operate under pressure, it's a miracle you made it out of the war alive, not to mention how you get home unharmed from work every day." Harry gave a weak chuckle.

"I'm normally a lot better at it," he said. "Let's just say those were… special circumstances, right there."

"No shit," Severus agreed, reaching for something on one of the higher shelves. "Let's finish up here and go back to the house. I doubt you'll be able to concentrate on shopping after this, and I could use some food."

"Alright," Harry said, pulling the list of supplies from his pocket and moving quickly and efficiently down the aisle. Less than fifteen minutes later, they were both turning on the spot in preparation for travel.  



	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harry started pacing almost the second they landed in the sitting room in Grimmauld Place, and Severus watched with mounting interest as his friend drew his wand and performed some rather spectacular spells and charms, cloaking the house in yet another layer of invisible magic meant to warn and conceal. Even when it was all done, however, and Severus could practically feel the magic tingle in the air, Harry didn't stop, pacing back and forth, muttering under his breath, going over things he wasn't allowed to forget.

Severus made a quick trip into the kitchen and came back with a kettle of strong, soothing chamomile tea, which he settled on the coffee table in front of the other man before practically dragging him down unto the sofa.

"Bloody hell," he swore, jumping away as Harry poured half of his cup nearly on his hands. "If adultery is shaking you up this badly, I guess we should all be thankful that you aren't attempting anything worse, like kidnapping, or murder."

Harry just looked at him. Severus couldn't help the laugh that suddenly burst from his throat.

"I'm sorry," he managed. "I know that you, with the moral compass, the hero complex and all, don't find this situation even remotely amusing, but it really rather is. You think far too much in terms of the Muggle films you watch, Harry. One would think that the Head of the Auror Deparment would have more sense than that."

"How so?"

"There doesn't have to be any of this cloak and dagger nonsense. Magic can make you silent and invisible. It can Confound and Obliviate your opponents. It can even make you look like somebody else. Communication can be done through password-protected, charmed objects, giving you completely secure channels. Travel is instantaneous so that you can reach remote locations where there's no risk of interruption without ever needing to explain away long periods of time. It's also untraceable if you use Apparition, unless someone physically grabs on to your arm—and even that risk can be avoided if you take the pains of travelling in two stages, through an inconspicuous transit point." He laughed. "Listen to me. I sound like a seasoned spy." That got Harry's lips twitching.

"Must be a family talent. Your father would be proud."

Severus smirked.

"I can't risk my children." There was an edge to Harry's voice that told his young friend that this was probably the only thing Harry wasn't willing to risk.

"Unless you're stupid enough to wear your heart on your sleeve in public—or worse, with people who know you—or negligent enough not to cover your tracks, you'll never have to," he said, matter of factly. "Keep your secrets close to heart to make sure they stay secrets and only allow yourself to let your heart or balls do the thinking when you're somewhere safe. Contrary to popular belief, the truth doesn't always come out in the end."

"I can't believe you're helping me do this."

Severus shrugged. "There's no honour in mediocrity," he said simply. "And where would the hero of the Wizarding World and the epitome of all things Gryffindor be without true love in his life?"

"It's just so wrong," Harry murmured. "All of it. This isn't me; it can't be me. I hate lying, and I'm living a lie, and have been for ages. I'm planning— _planning_ —for how to be unfaithful to my wife, and it feels like the first honest thing I've done in years! God, this is just so fucked up."

He raised his cup to his lips with trembling hands, taking a careful sip, eyes closed.

"She's my _wife_ , Sev", he whispered brokenly. "And I can't seem to make that count, no matter how hard I try. Every time I touch her, I feel as though I'm cheating. Lying. Betraying everything inside of me… And I didn't even see him for almost three years until we met today. It's insane."

"It's love, Harry," Severus scoffed. "What did you think it would be like?"

Harry was silent for a long time, biting down so hard on his lower lip, Severus was quite convinced that it would start bleeding any second.

"Not like this," he whispered finally, shaking his head and standing up to put away the kettle. "I didn't think it would be like this."

***

She found Ron in the garden, weeding out the small pumpkin patch with smooth, circular movements of his wand. The sun had started to set behind the trees, but some of it still lingered, painting her husband in red and gold with gentle, slanted brush strokes. He looked at peace where he stood—just a man in his garden, taking care of things for himself and his family. She felt regret burn hot and painful in her chest and wondered at what point she had stopped loving him.

"Hi."

Ron turned at the faint greeting, putting down his wand and nodding in acknowledgment. She gathered whatever was left of her composure and walked towards him with slow, hesitant steps.

"I handed in the notice for the flat," she said softly. "And I told Kingsley that I wouldn't be able to take on the project in Tokyo, or put in the same kind of hours any longer."

Ron just looked at her, his face expressionless.

"I want to come home," she tried. "I was wrong to leave everything with you and expect that my life could just go on the way I wished without any consequences."

Ron still didn't speak.

"I'm sorry," she said, truly meaning it for the first time in years. "I'm sorry I let you down, Ron. I honestly didn't mean to."

Still nothing.

"Please, say something," she whispered, feeling herself near tears. Ron shook his head, raising his wand again and turning back towards the garden patch.

"I used to fantasise," he said quietly, as though speaking to no one in particular, "about how it would be when we had been married this long, when we had children and lived in a house—all of the things I used to think about growing up." She bit her lip to stop the immediate apologies that bubbled up inside her. Somehow, she knew that this was not the time to talk; everything in Ron's posture told her that if there would even be the slightest chance of fixing their marriage, she'd better shut up at this point.

"I'm not disappointed, Hermione," he said, his voice echoing hollowly into the evening air. "I knew you when I married you. Knew that you would want to have a career, that you would likely try to save everyone in the world before realising that perhaps your family needed to be saved as well, or—heaven forbid—that _you_ might. I knew you were stubborn and selfish and downright arrogant and insensitive at times, and I wanted to marry you anyway, because I've known you since I was eleven and have loved you pretty much since then." He cleared another section with his wand and then flicked the piece of wood, producing a soft spray of cool water.

"There is so much good in you," he continued, and now he was beginning to sound angry. "So much. You're kind and smart and amazing—and it kills me how you can just ignore all that and only see the things that aren't perfect. You have two beautiful children, and whenever we talk about them, you want to discuss how Rose still can't sleep in her own bed or that Hugo only started walking when he was fifteen months old. We have a thousand things working for us, and you only ever focus on the problems we have. You see the weeds that grow in the garden, but not that the apple tree has started to bloom, or the grime on the windows, but not the fact that there's a clear, blue sky just outside it." He trailed off, focusing his eyes on the spray of water from his wand, taking care to distribute it evenly over the black soil. Hermione watched the resigned expression on his face and felt her lips begin to move on their own accord.

"I want to change all that," she tried, something at the back of her mind noting how small and broken her own voice suddenly sounded. "I want to fix it, Ron. Please let me try." Ron's ears turned a glowing red.

"You always want to fix things!" he shouted, keeping his eyes firmly away from her, even as the sheer volume of the explosion made her jump. "You always think that changing things is the answer. Well, sometimes it's not! Sometimes, you just need to let things be, because they're good as they are—without you having to try to make them so fucking perfect all the time!"

Hermione just looked at him. And for the first time, she actually feared what Ron might do to her heart, what it would mean to her if he left her. That it was even possible that, should they not make it, it could be _he_ who decided to go.

Ron finished watering the plants and turned to her, finally meeting her eyes. The moment he did, she very much wished that he hadn't.

"Why did you decide to come back, Hermione?" he asked coldly. "Did your career fall through? Someone else got the position you've been working for? Or did you finally decide to stop looking at Snape's son as though he's everything you've wanted your entire life and do something about it?"

The accusation hit her like a kick to the stomach, and Hermione felt herself go deathly pale, fighting for breath.

"So that's it, isn't it?" Ron continued, back to the steely, hollow voice she didn't even recognise. "You cheated on me. I figured you might, you know, ever since I first saw you together at Harry and Ginny's." He took a couple of steps closer, and she shrank away, moving back without thinking. "So how was it?" Ron pushed, every word cutting into her like a sharp, stabbing pain. "Did it live up to your fantasies? Was tall, dark and mysterious everything it was cracked up to be?" His tone was mocking now, nearly burning with the anger she could sense just beneath the surface. Ron took another step towards her, picking up the thread again. "See, Hermione, I don't think it was. In fact, seeing as you're here, with me, willing to give up _both_ your career _and_ the London flat I know you love a great deal more than this house, I'd say it was a fucking disaster."

She could only nod. Her knees gave out, unable to support her weight any longer, and she crumbled to the ground, feeling deep, wracking sobs start somewhere at her core and work their way outwards until she was a crying, shaking mess on the grass.

Ron walked up to stand close to her, backlit in the setting sun, his face in darkness.

"Tell me why I should try again," he said quietly. "Give me a reason I can believe, Hermione, because, honest to God, I'm not even sure if you love me anymore." He reached out his hand, pulling her to her feet. She lost her balance in the process and latched on to him, clinging to Ron to keep herself from falling as everything broke apart inside. After a few moments of initial stiffness, a warm hand came up around her back, pulling her closer while another moved to stroke lightly, hesitantly, over wind-tousled hair.

"I do," she sniffled, holding on to him tightly, afraid what would happen to her if she ever let go. "So much." She was shaken to realise that it was the truth, that she did love Ron, needed him on a level that went far deeper than convenience, sex or romantic interest. He'd been a part of her since she was just a little girl. How could she live without something that was a _part_ of her?

Ron hugged her tightly, pressing them intimately together in a way that hadn't happened for months, perhaps even years.

"Okay," he whispered against her hair, and she let out a shuddering sob. "Okay. One more try."

He pulled away slightly, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her face up to him. His eyes were still half-empty, still angry, and she realised that forgiveness—if they would ever get to that—was still a long way coming.

"If you pull something like this again, though," he added, deep blue eyes pinning her in place. "If you go off in your own little quest for perfection again without any thought of the ones you leave behind—then we're through. Immediately, completely and for good." She nodded in understanding, tears spilling over yet again.

"I'm really sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes as she felt Ron's lips brush her cheek, kissing away some of the tears.

"Don't," he said stiffly. "I won't carry the guilt for you. I will learn to live with it being in our lives, trying to eat its way between us, but I won't carry it for you. You need to make peace with yourself." He softly kissed the other cheek, then moved upwards to brush his lips over the bridge of her nose.

"I missed you," she said softly, shocked to realise that this, also, was completely true. She had missed him. Against her left eyelid, she felt Ron's lips tighten slightly, as though something was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Better," he murmured, and then pulled her close in another crushing embrace. "Now, come inside. I'll make some tea."

***

"Ginny, there's something I need to tell you."

Harry was standing in the doorway of the bedroom they usually shared when staying at the Burrow, leaning against the battered wood and dragging his hand nervously through his hair. She let her eyes wander over his body, taking in the subtle changes in the man she'd known and loved for over fifteen years. She imagined that, were she to go up to him and smell his neck, she would notice only the scent of his favourite soap, skin fresh from the shower. Likewise, she imagined that, were she to remove his clothes, she would find no marks, nor anything in his pockets, nor any period of time in the last twenty-four hours that he couldn't plausibly account for.

And still she knew. Somehow, inexplicably, she knew what must have happened.

She closed her eyes, fighting back the tears, and reached over to the crib by the side of the bed, picking up her sleeping daughter and pressing her tightly to her chest. She wondered how long, and then she didn't, suddenly remembering the exact day when Harry's emotional withdrawal had started and she had begun to wither away inside. It had been a Sunday, and there had been snow. She had been sitting by the fire at her parents' house, chatting away happily while her mother knitted yet another tiny jumper for the coming baby. Harry had been due to pick her up at five, and he hadn't shown. When she'd finally gone back to Grimmauld Place, she had found him in front of the fireplace, an empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the table beside him. He had told her that someone in his office had died. She had hugged him tightly, not realising that her husband was actually talking about himself.

Harry remained at the door, waiting for her to speak, to ask him what was wrong and to set the inevitable into motion. She looked at Lily's face and swallowed hard, wondering if three were enough, if she could live with never having a second daughter, who would play with Lily and tie ribbons in her hair, or a third son to follow James and Albus around everywhere, wrestling with Padfoot-the-dog and making muddy footprints in the hallway. Then she looked at Harry and wished that she could remember the last time he'd touched her skin in the way that told her without words how much he loved her. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath and cleared her voice.

"Don't tell me," she whispered, watching Harry's eyes widen in surprise and apprehension. "Please, Harry, I'm asking you not to tell me."

As long as she didn't hear the words from his mouth, she could still pretend that it wasn't real. That they still had a marriage. That Harry still loved her.

"Ginny, please…"

"No," she said, wiping away a stray tear that escaped the corner of her eye. "I love you, Harry. _I love you_. Please, just don't tell me. I don't want you to."

Harry hesitated, and she locked her eyes with the green ones across the room, battling her will against her husband's. Finally, after several minutes, Harry broke away, blinking repeatedly.

"Okay," he said, and she heard seven years of marriage and countless declarations of love knit together into the golden unit of that one, single word. Harry walked over to the bed, crawling under the covers and extending his arm to pull her in to rest her head against his chest. She cradled his hips with one of her legs and placed baby Lily between them, protected by both of their bodies.

"Goodnight, Harry," she whispered against the front pocket of his pyjamas, not caring about the hot tears that were beginning to dampen the soft fabric.

"I love you," Harry whispered back, and she let the familiar brush of his lips against her hair tune out the spiralling darkness in her mind, lulling her to sleep in the protective circle of her husband's steady arms.  



	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"Snape, Severus."

He walked calmly up the aisle between the long tables as Professor McGonagall called his name, feeling as though he was gliding through some sort of a dream. Every step under his feet stroke a chord in him, making him feel as though he'd walked across the grey stone a thousand times. He sat down on the stool and closed his eyes to better absorb the multitude of impressions. The smell from the food, the hundreds and hundreds of burning candles, the sound of a thousand students watching the proceedings in rapt attention and the buzz of excitement in the air. _Home,_ he thought, just before the black Sorting Hat descended on his head. _This is home._

 _"Severus Snape,"_ a curious voice said in his head. _"Now here's a surprise to be sure. Many strange things have I seen over the centuries, but I believe this is a first."_ Severus found it hard to believe that over the course of a thousand years, there had never been an older student who needed to be sorted before, but he kept his mind carefully blank. It wouldn't do to upset the hat by accusing it of having a bad memory. From what he'd gathered, the old artefact had nearly burned to cinders during the last war, so he supposed some damage or confusion was only to be expected.

 _"Still secretive, I see,"_ the hat chuckled. _"Intelligence and power in abundance. As ambitious as ever, but something is new… I—"_ The voice quieted, and Severus had a rather disturbing mental picture of little fabric tentacles coming out from inside the top part and snaking themselves into his mind through his ears. _"I see family. Love. Loyalty,"_ the Sorting Hat continued finally. _"I saw traces of these things_ before _, of course, but this time it's blindingly clear… You have gone on a rather interesting journey, Mr Snape, that's for certain. Such courage, such devotion, so many secrets… Now where should I put you?"_

 _Somewhere I can be alone,_ he thought, surprising himself a little. He hadn't intended to answer since the question was clearly rhetorical. The hat chuckled.

 _"Ah, yes,"_ it said, good-humouredly. _"Quite the loner, still. Or perhaps it's simply that you've already found a true friend and isn't quite so desperate to make new ones. Well, I won't put you in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, then. A bit too loud for you, I would think. So that leaves two… Ravenclaw would undoubtedly respect your need for solitude, but I do think they would try your patience. And with so many secrets and such determination to protect the ones you love, I guess there's no better place than…"_

"…SLYTHERIN!"

The last word echoed aloud in the Great Hall, and a smattering of applause filled his ears. He removed the hat and handed it to Professor McGonagall, who smiled at him and indicated a table with her hand. A large group of students with green and silver on their uniforms greeted him, introducing themselves and making room for him on the bench. The feeling of _home_ intensified. He looked at his new Housemates, not registering anything in particular from any of them, but the overall impression he got was peaceful, respectful. The nervousness he'd felt before the Sorting quietly dissipated.

Later, as he walked down the corridors of Howarts, following one of the prefects and feeling again as though he had walked these halls forever, he took in the quiet grace of the stone and the calm tranquillity of the darkness. He breathed deeply, drawing familiar scents into his nose and letting them swirl in his consciousness. Harry had told him about his first night at Hogwarts, about the feel of the castle and how he'd never felt at home in such a powerful way anywhere else—as though the mass of stone was somehow alive and part of him. Severus felt that same thing seeping into him with every step he took. The castle had accepted him and was guiding him now, telling him about itself without any need for questions on his part. Without thinking, just somehow knowing that he should do it, he skipped a step on a moving staircase and thanked his instincts a few seconds later when one of the first-years stepped right through the polished wood. He looked around himself, at the suits of armour and the painted glass of the high windows, the torches lighting his way and the portraits that gossiped away happily in their frames. These were the halls where his father had spent most of his life, where Harry had grown up and discovered his magic and where Harry's children—and _his_ goddaughter—would follow as well. A smile spread on his lips as he moved towards the dungeons, the castle guiding his steps. The loss of his memories didn't seem so horrible, or so frustrating, anymore. He was home, really home, in space and time for the first time. He felt the connection with the stone, and with himself. He could feel magic swirl inside of him, making everything wonderfully alive. A fresh start, that was what it all came down to. The past was gone, but he was here, at a new beginning where he got to figure out who he was, independently of who he had been before he woke up in a dark, dingy pub in Hogsmeade.

And maybe that was alright.

THE END


End file.
